


Inevitable You

by Red_City



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Always, Angst, Boyd can talk, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, But then they get their shit together, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying Derek, Derek Loves Stiles, Derek and Stiles are Kidnapped, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek is Stiles' Anchor, Derek is a Softie, Derek is a martyr, Erica takes none of Stiles shit, Feels, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Full Moon, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapping, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Malia also takes no shit, Mates, Movie Night, Mutual Pining, No shits okay, POV Stiles, Pack Feels, Pining, Same with Lydia, Scott is a Good Friend, Slow Burn, Smut, Sparring, Sterek endgame, Stiles is an idiot, Stiles-centric, The Sheriff is a Badass, Torture, Well like a little smut okay, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf!Stiles, Wolfsbane, beta!Stiles, beta!derek, kiss, oblivious!Stiles, sort of, werewolf Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_City/pseuds/Red_City
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm Derek's mate," Stiles gets out, breathing hard. There is silence in the room.</p>
<p>As he looks around, he realizes that everyone else knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable You

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY  
> This fic took WAY too long and distracted me from like 5 other WIPs but now it's DONE and GOD I'm happy with it.
> 
> The graphic depics of violence include: Derek being extensively and a little gruesomely injured/tortured and Stiles being tortured to the point of black out. Just FYI.
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to my betas, apollonjoras and wondrousstrangesnow, who read and re-read and edited and ended up screaming side head-canons with me late into the evening.

As he looks around, no one looking back at him, he realizes that _everyone else knew._

“What the fuck, Scott. You - you knew about this? EVERYONE knew about this?”

Scott looks up at him for a split second and he sees the guilt in this stupid puppy-dog eyes.

Malia shifts towards him, as if to put a reassuring hand on his arm. “Stiles -” she starts, but he holds up a hand.

“No. You knew too, didn’t you? And you? Fucking everyone, everyone knew about this but me.” Stiles looks accusingly around the circle at his friends - the people that had been keeping secrets from him - his _friends._

“Fuck you guys. Fuck you,” he says, low, trying to reign in his anger. He still hasn’t learned how to completely control himself, it’s only been - it’s only been two weeks since - 

“I’m assuming you knew the whole time?” He asks the room, hoping at least one person will have the guts to answer him. Stiles’ eyes roll across face after face, Scott, Malia, Erica, Kira, Isaac, Allison, Lydia, Boyd - 

Boyd, who is looking him straight in the eye and nodding solemnly. 

“Thank you,” Stiles says, and turns to leave. 

“Stiles, wait, it’ll be fine, just -”

Stiles shakes of the warm hand on his arm. His ears catch the blip in Scott’s heartbeat. “What, Scott? What the hell else do you want?”

“I’m - I’m sorry, I didn’t ever think you’d - “

“Find out? Well, neither did I. Thank you.”

“You were DYING, Stiles, what else was I supposed to do?” Scott is suddenly angry, and Stiles can smell it, feel it rolling off him. Others in the room are getting nervous too - Boyd, defensive, Kira, scared. Stiles can smell it. He hates that he can smell it. But would he really rather be dead?

“No, it’s just - sorry. Scott. Thank you. Seriously. But I’m still too pissed off at you and everyone else to really deal with this right now, I’m gonna just,” he stops, and nods his head towards the door. Scott looks at him, like he’s trying to decide something, and then nods.

“Okay. Be careful.”

“Careful? Ha. I’ve never had to be less careful in my life,” Stiles says, holding up his hand, letting his claws peek through his skin. 

He almost feels bad for the look of guilt that crosses Scott’s face, and almost misses the sharp inhale from Lydia. Like she had forgotten. 

“Don’t worry, Scotty, I won’t be out all night.”

It took all he had not to shift and run from the room. 

 

\-----------

 

Stiles had woken up on Deaton’s table, staring up at the blinding light he detested so much. He was confused - why was he here? He’d never been here before, it was always some wolfsbane poisoned werewolf, all twitchy and dying on this table. Why was Stiles here?

He tried to move, tried to sit up, but looking down he found his wrists tied to the table. What the hell was that smell?

“Deaton!” He yelled, and it sounded loud to his own ears. “Scott! Yo, what the hell is going on?” He shook his restraints again, the metal table squeaking beneath him. “You should get some WD40 on this man, even I can hear it squeaking.”

There was a huge bang, and he tilted his head to see the door open. “Dude, what the fuck?” He asked a very concerned looking Scott.

“Stiles, are - how are you feeling?”

“Um, a little freaked out and tied up at the moment, how are you?”

Deaton appeared behind Scott, gently shoving him into the room.

“Stiles. Do you remember what happened?”

“Uh, no? I don’t know - what is that smell?” He sniffed deeper, trying to place the warm, cottony scent. It was coming from - 

“Scott, dude, is that you?”

Scott rubbed a hand across his face and there was a sour feeling in Stiles’ belly.

“Stiles, there was a - there was a fight. With the snake-monster thing. Do you remember that?”

“The - oh! Yeah! The thing I kept calling a basilisk, and Peter kept correcting me and getting pissy.”

“Yes. Do you remember the fight?” Deaton asked him, shining a light into his eyes. It was amazingly bright, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open.

“Um, I think so. You were there, so was Erica and Boyd - Derek?” Scott nodded, and Stiles continued. “Yeah, Derek and I were set to trap it with the stuff you gave us,” he nodded at Deaton. “And you guys were chasing it towards us. But it - it came up too fast or something and Derek tossed me out of the way - did I break my arm?” He looked down, not feeling any pain, though he still couldn’t move. “I swear to God I broke it.”

“You - just keep going. What happened next?”

“Uh, I was on the ground, and had the powder stuff in that nerf gun -” they had come up with a brilliant way of shooting the whatever Deaton gave them without having to load it into an actual weapon, regardless of Chris Argent’s insistence that it would be no trouble - “and then I shot at it, but missed, and it came towards me? It was fucking huge, and you yelled at me, and so did Derek, and then -”

It was fuzzy, but he sucked in a breath at the memory. The giant snake thing had lunged at him, jaws wide, and wrapped easily around his frame. He had shot the thing in the eye with the powder bullets, once, twice, three times, but not before it’s teeth had sunken into his bones and it’s jaw crushed his body. He remembers feeling like he was dying, trapped inside the beast’s mouth, Scott screaming and Derek looking stricken and both of them trying to pull the teeth open, trying to get him out. 

“Stiles! STILES PLEASE!” Scott had yelled, and Stiles had tried to say something back, tried to tell him it would be okay, but his mouth was filling with blood and he was choking, coughing, unable to breathe - 

“Scott?” Stiles asked, looking at his best friend, standing over him, chewing on his nails. “Scott, what happened?”

“You - you almost died. You were going to die. I - I couldn’t just - I couldn’t let you DIE, Stiles,” he said, sounding more upset than Stiles could ever remember.

“What -”

“Derek - he - he asked me, too. We couldn’t let you die when -”

“When what, Scott? What did you do?” Stiles felt anger and fear like he never had before, could smell a sour taste in the air and he hated it, felt a strength coursing through him like nothing else. Nothing _human._

Instead of answering, Deaton undid one of the restraints and held up Stiles’ left arm for him to look at. Stiles knew what he would see, but couldn’t stop the gasp that left his lips. There it was, a perfect crescent of indentions just below the inside of his left wrist, red and deep. His eyes went unfocused and he was breathing hard, could feel his heart going way faster than it was supposed to. He should be having a panic attack. But - 

“I -” he started to say, but didn’t have any idea where to go. “Can I sit up?” He asked, looking to Deaton.

“Will you be able to control yourself?”

“I don’t know.”

Deaton gave him his patented appraising veterinarian look, and then took off the other strap. Stiles swung his legs down where they almost touched the floor, and gripped the edge of the table. He didn’t want to see his arm, but at the same time wanted to stare at it, memorize it.

_“Stiles, if you have it...we’ll do something.  
I’ll do something.”_

“Scott,” he said, and felt the warmth from Scott’s body near him.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Does my dad know?”

“Uh, no. It’s only been a day and - I figured I should leave that up to you. My mom and the rest of the pack know, but I made sure he would only find out from you.”

“What color are my eyes?”

“Brown.”

“No, Scott,” Stiles said, frustration making him run his fingers in his hair. He caught a glimpse of the bite and hastily put his hand back down.

“Oh, oh, sorry. Um. They’re blue.”

Stiles breathed out slowly, expecting that answer but still hating it. Hating the fact that he had killed innocent people, helped kill innocent people, even if it hadn’t been HIM, he still did it. 

“But that wasn’t you, you know. It’s not - that’s not really how it should be.” God bless Scott and his ever-optimistic sense of the world.

_“Stiles, this isn’t you.”  
“It is now.”_

“Thanks, Scott. And - thanks. Even though I - thank you.”

He knew Scott would catch what he was trying to say. Even though he had never wanted this. Even though he LIKED who he had been. Even though he was wrestling in his own mind whether or not being a werewolf was better than being dead.

“Yeah, of course.” Scott put a hand on his arm, and it was warm, and he could smell the cotton smell again - must be Melissa’s detergent, it was familiar and comforting. 

“Can I - I want to see my face.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah - how do you -”

Scott squeezed his shoulder. “It’s hard to explain, but I guess it’s - can you feel that THING in the back of your head? Feels like it’s humming? Full of energy?”

Stiles focused. Yes. He nodded.

“You have to let it take over. Stop pushing it away. Be careful, though, it’ll try to take over completely.”

Stiles pushed at the energy, pulled at it, and it shifted. Moved over him. He felt a warm, buzzing sensation and felt his face start to shift. It hurt a little, and was probably the strangest experience he’d ever had, but - 

Deaton moved out of his way as he got up and headed towards the clinic’s bathroom, wanting the mirror. The bathroom was dark, and he wa hoping to get a little preparatory time before having to see himself but he caught the glowing blue spheres in the mirror the moment he opened the door. He didn’t waste time then, flipping on the light and staring like a deer caught in headlights at his new reflection. 

He was fascinated, despite himself. He could feel the wolf now, closer to the surface, and he was brimming with a red-hot energy, wanting to move, run, bite. He reached up to touch the mirror, found that his hands has shifted too. His nails were long and dangerous looking. He grimaced, opening his mouth slightly to see his teeth. Sharp. Terrifying. His face looked like him and not like him at all, all moved around, thick, coarse hair and the stupid lack of eyebrows. That was probably the worst part, he hated the lack of eyebrows most on everyone else, especially Derek, but now he had to deal with it too. He tried shifting back to normal. he couldn’t right at first, but after taking a couple steadying breaths, his own face looked back at him. 

“You okay?” Scott said from behind him.

“I need to go home,” he said, and Scott nodded.

“The full moon isn’t for another two weeks, so you should be okay til then. I’ll help you with that. I promise.” Scott’s words fell heavy in the pit of Stiles’ stomach, reminding him yet again of what his new state of being entailed. He was shell shocked and feeling numb and shaky and needed to see his dad.

“Okay,” he said, and moved towards the door.

“Mr. Stilinski. I don’t have to warn you to be careful to conceal your new identity,” Deaton said.

“So don’t, thanks,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes as the door dinged shut. The cool night felt good on his skin and he looked down at his arm, rubbing his fingers over the crescent moon shape. 

“Shit,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes. Then he could hear Scott asking Deaton if he should follow Stiles home, and Stiles took off before Deaton answered, not wanting to know.

_“I don’t want to be like you.”  
“Stiles, you may believe you are telling the truth but you are lying to yourself.”_

\-----------------------------------

Stiles paused at the door to his house, still trying to figure out how to tell his dad. ‘Hi, dad, I’m a werewolf now,’ seemed a bit..harsh, but there wasn’t really another way of saying it. Last year, the sheriff had finally been given full disclosure of the supernatural denizens of Beacon Hills, so he knew about everything - mostly everything. And now this. 

He turned the handle and pushed the door open, the smell of home overwhelming and comforting and so strong that for a moment, he felt tears pricking at his eyes. 

He could hear a heartbeat, heavy and loud, picking up speed. 

“Stiles?” His dad called, starting to move. 

“Yeah,” he said, kicking off his shoes. “Don’t move, I’m coming in there.”

His dad ignored him, coming into the entryway. “Are you okay? Scott called last night, saying you were recovering? From what? Are you hurt?”

His dad started to pat him down, searching for injuries, and Stiles could smell the sour fear coming off of him. He grabbed his dad’s hands in his own, making him stop.

“I’m fine, dad, just. I need to talk to you.”

“Okay, sure, are you okay? Yeah, okay, you said that, but -”

“Just - come sit down.”

His dad following him, Stiles went into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. His dad took a seat at the table, files spread all over it as usual. 

“Stiles, what’s going on?”

“Okay. This is - hard for me, so just...let me get through it all. And don’t freak out.”

His dad raised an eyebrow at that, but leaned back in his chair, waiting. Stiles gave him the Cliff notes version of the basilisk thing, the fight, and skipped over the part where he thought he had broken his arm - he stopped for a moment, right before he got to the part where he DIED, but he had to keep going, had to finish. He took a steadying breath and didn’t let himself look at his dad. Not that it would have helped; he could smell the fear and anxiety only growing stronger and stronger. 

“And then the thing - well, it came at me, and, and, it, uh, bit me. Like picked me up in it’s jaw, and bit down, and there was a lot of crunching and blood -”

“Stiles!” His dad said, his eyes wide with panic, standing up.

“Dad, wait. Okay? Please.” His dad didn’t sit back down, but there was silence, and he continued. “So, then I don’t remember a lot of it, but Scott was yelling and so was Derek and then I blacked out. Then, uh, I woke up at Deaton’s.”

“The vet?” His dad asked. Stiles nodded. “Why were you there? Why didn’t Scott take you to the hospital?”

“Because, Dad, it was - it was too late for that.”

“Son, what the hell happened? What are you saying?”

“I was dying, so Scott had to bite me.”

There was another pause, and he could feel his dad processing.

“Scott -”

“He saved my life,” Stiles started.

“Yes, I can see that.”

Stiles looked his dad in the eye, and he focused all his energy on making them shine. The sheriff knew about the eyes, he’d seen Scott’s countless times, Derek’s, Malia’s - so Stiles knew he would get the point across without actually having to say it. It must have worked, because his dad took a step backwards and gripped the table, hard. 

“Stiles, son -”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked back at the floor, waiting for whatever the hell reaction his dad was going to have. This was uncharted territory. Then there was a rush of something warm, a smell he hadn’t anticipated, and his dad’s strong arms were wrapping too tightly around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, Stiles,” his dad whispered, and Stiles gripped his father back, not wanting to let go for the world.

“Me too, dad,” he said, and found that it was true. 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

Stiles was starting to get the hang of things. One of the biggest positives from the change was that he no longer had panic attacks, and his ADHD had calmed down a lot. Scott, surprisingly, had been super helpful - he had figured out a lot and Stiles’ transition was a lot easier than Scott’s had been with someone willingly sharing information with him. _Cough *Derek* cough._

Derek had been weirdly absent during the whole thing, ignoring texts and everything. Scott had shrugged and said he didn’t know, but now Stiles could tell when he was lying. He decided not to push it. 

“How do you - I can’t fucking get them to come out on command unless I’m pissed!” Stiles yelled, holding out his hands. “Fuck!” He said, and Scott’s patience was starting to rub him the wrong way. 

“Just - I need you to clear your mind.”

“Scotty, that’s kind of a lot to ask me, you know that, right?”

“Yes, Stiles, but I also know that you can do this. Empty your mind and CONCENTRATE.”

Stiles sighed, but did as he was told. He closed his eyes, trying to get his mind to empty, letting blackness take over his thoughts. 

“Scott it’s not working.”

“You need to find an anchor.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He yelled, his eyes flashing open. The claws came out then, and he knew his eyes must be burning blue. 

“Stiles. I need you to concentrate. Try thinking of something. A memory. Or a person. Somebody that means something to you.”

Stiles exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes again, flitting through people in his head. His dad? No. Scott. Lydia? His mom? He tried for a couple seconds with that one, but he couldn’t keep her in his mind long enough. He sighed again. 

For some reason, Derek came to mind, and he was suddenly calm. His mind seemed sharp and focused and he opened his eyes, watching as he easily manipulated his claws in and out. Scott watched him with a growing smile, looking so proud it was ridiculous.

“See? There! That’s all you needed! Who was it? Or what?” Scott asked him excitedly. Stiles almost said, Derek, right away, but for some reason wanted to keep that a secret. He didn’t know how to feel about it. 

“I thought about my mom,” he said, which wasn’t exactly a LIE, and why Scott didn’t catch it. 

“Oh, that makes sense. Cool. You feel better?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, and honestly did. Maybe - maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

 

\-------------------

It was his third night being changed before Stiles noticed.

His dad found him, standing shirtless in front of his floor-length wall of mirror, half of it covered in pictures and tape from the last case and half of it bare, enough room to Stiles to see himself in full. 

“What’s the matter, son?” John said, stepping inside the room. Stiles just stared at himself, eyes fixed on the skin over his left ribs. 

“All my scars are gone,” Stiles said, his voice small. The sheriff came further into the room, eyes dropping to where Stiles was looking, where a huge twisted scar used to take up half his side. It had been the witches, two years ago. It was the most prominent one, but Stiles was littered with little ones, long ones, thin scars, deep scars, even a few bullet holes. The smallest one had been on the inside of his right thumb, and the largest on his side, where now there was nothing but smooth, pale skin, dotted with moles. 

“That’s - that’s good, isn’t it, son? That one always hurt you a little bit, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but -”

“But it wasn’t just a scar.”

Stiles sighed, glad his dad understood. It had been a scar, yes, but also a memory - a reminder of the shit he had been through, the battles he had faced, the death he had defied. Sure, they were annoying at times, but scars - scars MEANT something.

“Stiles, I’m sorry.”

Stiles leaned in to the hand on his shoulder, resting his chin on his dad’s calloused fingers. He’d ever get callouses, now - no more scars, no more marks.

“Aw, man!” He said suddenly, remembering something. 

“What, what?” His dad said, startled by the sudden change. Stiles turned to him, crossing his arms. 

“It’s gonna be such a BITCH if I ever want a tattoo now!”

His dad laughed, and was so amused he didn’t even reprimand the language. 

“Get some sleep, Stiles,” he said, turning to leave, and Stiles smiled at him, looking back in the mirror again.

“Sure, Dad,” he said, turning to look at his smooth back, trying to remember where all the scars had been now that they were gone. 

\---------------------------------

It was a week after Scott bit him that he saw his new werewolf healing power at work. Scott had decided Stiles needed to learn how to fight, which was actually a good idea. Stiles was doing better than expected, probably due to the fact that he had watched the pack fight and train for years, knowing each person’s weaknesses and strengths. Putting it into practice was still different than watching, though, and he was sort of getting his ass handed to him. 

“This is not cool, guys, all of you have way more experience than I do - give a guy a break!”

As if to contradict his request, Erica tripped him, again, and didn’t even bother stifling her laugh. They were out on the preserve, pretty much just messing around. Derek was still oddly absent. 

“Come on, honey, up and at ‘em,” Erica said, pushing him with her foot. 

“Go to hell,” he growled, and she smiled widely at him.

“Is poor puppy Stiles maaaaad,” she said in a baby voice, grinning at Boyd.

“Erica, shut up,” Stiles said again, annoyed.

“Make me, big boy. Unless you’re just gonna lay on the ground, poor, hurt Stiles, can’t do anything right.”

Stiles shot up, lunging at her with his claws out. Her eyes opened in surprise and she threw up her own claws to block him. Stiles had been expecting that, though, and ducked, swiping at her legs, drawing long scratches across her leggings and digging into her skin, making her fall.

“You asshole! I just bought these!” She yelled at him, getting back on her feet, wounds already closing. He shot her a wide grin, then turned to smile at Scott. He had never really gotten the whole approval-of-the-alpha thing until he was a wolf. Now, he was drawn to Scott even more than before, and preened every time Scott praised him. Stiles sort of hated it, but supposed it came with the territory.

“Look, Scotty, I finally - AH!” Stiles yelled, going down. Erica had tackled him from behind, throwing all her weight onto him. He threw out an arm to stop the fall, landing hard with a sickening crunch. He yelled in pain, knowing he broke something.

“SHIT, Stiles, are you okay, I’m sorry, I’m -” Erica stopped babbling, watching Stiles arm as he turned over. He looked at it too, fascinated by the sight of the bone righting itself, the angle going back to normal. Everyone was watching - it was still new that Stiles wasn’t fragile anymore, Stiles was just as strong as they were. The pain stopped, and he shook out his wrist. 

“Ready, Reyes?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow at Erica. She smiled, menacingly, and flipped him off with both hands, claws out.

“If you think you can take it, Stilinski.”

They lunged at each other again, blood and laughter in the air. 

\-----------------

 

Stiles woke up roaring the night before the full moon. His eyes were blazing blue, though he barely registered their reflection in the mirror. He was too hot, all over, and needed to be outside. Needed to _run_.

He didn’t waste time going downstairs, instead just hopping through the window and landing on all fours. He had practically stopped using the front door in the two weeks since he’d been turned, which was both amusing and infuriating for his father. 

He howled at the sky, feeling the pull of the moon, and took off towards the preserve. 

He had no doubt woken his dad, who was probably worried now, and looking for him - but that thought was growing distant as Stiles took in the feel of his own legs stretching wide, the earth beneath him, the wind in his hair. His claws dug into the ground, pushing him onwards, forwards, _faster, FASTER!_

He was a good mile into the trees when something slammed into him, knocking him down. He flipped over onto his feet, snarling at the dark shape in front of him. Stiles vision was hazy, he couldn’t tell who it was, but he took in a deep breath and relaxed - whoever it was was pack. He stayed upright, though, and had his claws out. 

“Stiles, I need you to focus on my voice. Can you hear me?”

Stiles growled instead of answering.

“Okay, okay, dude, I need you to breathe with me and maybe calm down a little. Do you know where you are?”

“I’m - in the woods,” Stiles said, his voice rough. He shook his head as if to clear it and stood upright, cracking his neck. He focused sharply on himself, bringing Derek to mind to help calm his wolf. He still hadn’t told anyone Derek was his anchor, and didn’t really know how he felt about it. 

Scott. Scott was standing in front of him, human except for the glowing red eyes. Stiles automatically bared his throat to his alpha, and Scott took a step forwards, holding out a hand. Stiles leaned into it, letting Scott grab his shoulder. 

“You scared us, man,” Scott said, rubbing soothing circles into Stiles’ arm. 

“Sorry - I just - I had to run.”

“I know the feeling. The full moon doesn’t help. Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“No?” Stiles said, sending a small smile in Scott’s direction. He was feeling a lot calmer now, breathing regularly, and his claws were hidden, blunt, human nails on the ends of his fingers. 

“It’ll be okay, buddy. We’ve all been through it and we’ll all be there to help.”

“Everyone is just gonna be standing around watching me lose control?” Stiles said, pulling away.

“Who said you’re gonna lose control?” Scott asked, frowning. “And no, not really. We’re going up to Lydia’s parent’s lake house again, and I’ll be in the basement with you while everyone else chills upstairs. Is that okay?”

That was acceptable, at least. Stiles nodded. Scott squeezed his shoulder again, and pushed him slightly. 

“I’ll race you back to your place,” Scott said, fangs shining in the moonlight. 

“Not fair, you’ll use your alpha power bullshit.”

“I’ll hold back.”

“No you won’t!” Stiles yelled behind him, already running full speed. He could hear Scott curse behind him, and then start laughing, taking off after Stiles. They ran all the way back to Stiles house, where practically all the lights were on, and his dad was asleep at the kitchen table. Scott gave Stiles a look, and Stiles rolled his eyes, closing the door in Scott’s face. He woke his dad up, said he was sorry for scaring him, and headed up to his room. His wolf was still restless, making him want to pace, to run, anything, but he forced himself to lay down and close his eyes. He had to sleep tonight, because he wasn’t getting any sleep tomorrow. 

He smiled, remembering that stupid talisman Derek had tried to train Liam with, and found himself wondering if Derek was going to be there tomorrow. He had to be. The thought settled him somehow, lessening his worry, and he was soon off to sleep. 

\--------------------

 

His first full moon was way more mild than Stiles had been expecting. It actually kind of worried him, and the suspicious looks the rest of the pack was shooting him didn't help. Scott and he had been prepared, chaining Stiles arms to the wall in the Martin's lake house basement, the rest of the pack upstairs watching movies. The moon had hung in the sky for a good hour, the only visible change in Stiles being his eyes glowing blue, before Scott had gone upstairs and brought everyone down to watch Stiles decidedly not losing his shit or even really having the urge to wolf out.

He had been interrogated and checked by Scott, Malia, Lydia, and Erica, all of them coming up empty handed. 

"Why is this happening? Or. Not happening?"

"I don't know, bro."

There was the sound of a car getting closer, and then the engine cut out. Stiles heard a door swing open and shut, and heavy footsteps on the gravel.

"Derek's here?" He asked, his voice strained. His heartbeat was spiking, and he could hear his pulse in his ears. What the hell was happening.

Derek appeared a moment later on the foot of the stairs, and it was like clean, clear water splashed over Stiles' face. The room was suddenly sharper, his eyes clearer, and his heartbeat slowed to a steady, normal beat. 

Derek was staring at him, wide-eyed, and everyone else in the room was just watching the two of them. It was so quiet Stiles' enhanced ears were focusing in on the heartbeats in the room, the breaths his friends were taking, the creak of leather as Derek inhaled and exhaled. Derek. He was focused on Derek, everything else was a backdrop. He started towards the other werewolf, forgetting that he was still restrained. The chains clinked loudly in the silence, and Stiles registered Allison flinching at the noise. 

"You okay, Stiles?" Scott asked, and it sort of jerked Stiles out of whatever trance he was in.

"Yeah, I'm. I'm fine. I feel pretty fucking amazing actually. I just -" He stopped, looking to Derek again, feeling a pull towards him. It was like the room was uncomfortably warm and Derek was a cool breeze. 

"Derek?" He asked, hesitantly, and the name buzzed pleasantly on his tongue. "What is - I don't - can you come here?" 

Derek looked unsure and slightly terrified, but also really relieved. Stiles couldn't fit the emotions together, so he simply inclined his head, pleading with his eyes. Derek did his typical huffing-almost-smile thing, and started towards Stiles. 

"Derek. Are you sure that's - um," Scott started, but was ignored. Isaac took a step in front of Kira, and Boyd stepped in front of Lydia. Stiles didn't understand their worry, and didn't care, because Derek was almost close enough to touch and Stiles could smell him, sweeter than anything else, musty like the woods and leather, clean like soap. Stiles wanted to bury his face in it, so he did. Derek came within arm's reach and Stiles grabbed, his fingernails still human, and hauled the Derek in, pushing up against him as close as he could get. Derek made a choked off noise of surprise and braced himself up against the wall with his hands, bracketing Stiles in. Stiles never wanted to move again. He pulled Derek towards him, inhaling deeply at Derek's neck, reveling in the feeling of stubble against his skin. 

Derek's heart rate sped up, and Stiles pulled back, worried. His eyes met Derek's, which were glowing ice blue. Stiles gasped, struck by how PRETTY they were. He lifted a hand, cradling Derek's face, and noticed his claws were out. He frowned, and Derek pulled away. 

"No -" Stiles said, holding tight. "Don't." 

"Stiles," Derek said, and his names sounded golden in Derek's mouth. "You aren't - in control. You're not in your right mind," he pulled away again. 

"Yes I am! I feel fine, I just - I need you to just. Please." Stiles didn't know what he was asking for, he just wanted Derek to come back.

"I told you it was a bad idea for me to see him on his first full moon," Derek said to Scott, who nodded.

"Wait, why? What's the problem? I'm totally fine," Stiles argued, pulling at the chains. The wall groaned. 

"Stiles, you don't think you're acting - strange?" Malia had stepped towards them, and was watching Stiles carefully. Scott was close behind her, looking ready to jump.

"Um, no?" He said, looking up at Derek again, who was still too far away. "Derek, what are they -"

"Stiles. They're right. You're not acting normal. We don't - we don't do that."

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but couldn't in his memory find another instance where he had been so drawn to Derek, so desperate to touch him. 

"I - is - is this the moon? I haven't really seen you since I got turned, dude. It's that. Is that bad?"

Derek shot a look at Scott, and then shook his head. "Not necessarily. But we'll have to talk about this when you're not so affected."

"Affected. Like how?" Derek didn't answer him, and started walking away. "Derek? You can't - don't leave!" Derek paused in his tracks, almost turned, but then set his shoulders and took another step. 

“Derek! Derek wait!” 

Derek visibly cringed, and grabbed the door frame, holding on like it was holding him up. Stiles didn’t understand.

“Derek, please come back,” Stiles said, his voice breaking. He didn’t know why he needed to be close to Derek, he didn’t know what was happening to him, but all he wanted was Derek to come back. “Come back.”

Derek turned towards him and his eyes flashed blue. Stiles let out a breath. Then Scott stood in front of him, blocking his view of Derek. 

“Scott! Stop it, move!”

“No, Stiles. This isn’t right. You’re not yourself.” He turned around, facing Derek. “Derek, you need to leave.”

Derek made a noise like a whimper, and started backing up the stairs. 

“Derek!” Stiles yelled, desperate. “Wait!”

He heard Derek growl, the sound tapering off in a painful whine, but Derek’s shape still moved until he disappeared up the stairs. Stiles lost control. 

He roared at Scott, fangs out, and yanked against the wall, scraping his feet against the floor and lunging. Scott watched him with pained eyes as the rest of pack filed up the stairs. Lydia’s eyes lingered on him, pitying, until he snapped in her direction. Scott settled against the wall opposite, settling in to wait Stiles out. Stiles howled as he heard gravel spitting on the driveway. 

\-------------------

Scott refused to talk to him about it without Derek. Stiles was fuming by the time he pulled up to the loft, and slammed the door behind him. The night before was fuzzy at best, but he knew that something had gone wrong. He knew that he had been too calm, and then too insane, and that Derek had been part of it. No one in the pack was telling him anything, and it was making his claws itch just thinking about it.

He stomped up the stairs, picking up Derek’s heartbeat before the third step. It started to pick up as they got closer, and Stiles banged on the door way louder than he needed to. Derek slid it open, looking at him like he was confused. Stiles scowled, entering the loft and pushed down the insanely good feeling of relief that flooded through him at the sight of Derek. What was THAT about?

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” He said, turning towards Derek and crossing his arms. Derek was just staring at him, lips parted, and was saying nothing.

“Look, Derek, I know that you’re really good at the whole not-explaining-things thing, and that’s been fun, it really has, but SOMETHING happened last night that I can’t explain and nobody can fucking talk to me about and it has something to do with you - don’t even look at me like that, I don’t remember everything but I do remember YOU okay, yes, something to do with you and I need you to tell me what the fuck is happening to me because my whole life has just been flipped around and I can’t handle any more bullshit, okay?”

If Stiles had still been human, he would definitely be having a panic attack right now. His heartbeat was racing in his ears and his breath was coming in fast, short puffs. He was waiting for it, still anticipating something he knew wouldn’t happen but was so USED to happening he couldn’t not expect it. His eyes started zooming in and out, focusing on the floorboards and the edge of the table, and Derek - 

Two warm hands grasped his shoulders, and he looked up at Derek. Just like that, he could breathe. His heart started to slow, and his hands stopped shaking. 

“Derek what is this?” Stiles wanted to freak out more, freak out about the fact that Derek’s presence was able to calm him so easily, but it felt so nice, felt so RIGHT, that he didn’t push away, instead, leaning into the touch. His forehead dropped to Derek’s shoulder, and Derek rubbed small circles into Stiles’ back. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. That wasn’t fair.”

Stiles, despite wanting to stay in the same place forever, never lifting his head from Derek’s warmth, looked up to meet his hazel eyes. Or, what Stiles had thought was hazel. 

“What even are you eyes, dude?” They were green and brown and gray and gold and a marbled mix of honey warmth. 

Derek smiled at him, and ran a finger over Stiles’ cheek. Stiles hummed in approval and leaned into the touch again without thinking. 

“Stiles, you need to - this isn’t - okay, look,” Derek said, pulling away abruptly. The room felt cold at the lack of his body heat. Stiles almost stumbled, not expecting Derek to withdraw so suddenly. With the distance, Stiles had enough presence of mind to wonder WHY Derek had just caressed his face and why Stiles didn’t stop him. He wanted him to do it again.

“Derek, what’s going on?”

Derek started pacing, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, there are some things- werewolf things - you don’t know. Sorry. This is one of them, and I should have told you before, I should have told you years ago -”

“Years ago? What?” Stiles crossed his arms, starting to get really worried. “Are you okay? Is there - is something gonna happen?”

Derek stopped and looked at Stiles. “No, no, it’s not - it’s nothing like that.” Derek shoved his hands into his pockets and exhaled, suddenly looking very tired and very small. It made Stiles want to wrap him up in a hug, but he refrained. 

“You know the idea of soulmates?” Derek asked, and Stiles mind shifted to a passage he had read in one of Derek’s old dusty books, something about mates and ties and destiny - 

“Those are real things?”

“Not in the way that humans probably think of them. I don’t know, I just know about werewolves. They’re real. Mates. Werewolves can have mates. It’s a biological thing, maybe fate is involved, I don’t know exactly what I believe, but I know it’s real. I’ve seen it before, and...” he trailed off. 

Stiles only waited a second before asking, “And what?”

“And. That’s. That’s what’s going on.” 

It took Stiles almost an embarrassingly long time to figure out what Derek had said, and what he had meant. He was staring at Derek, who was just gazing wordlessly back, guilt and worry written all over his face. 

“I - what? You - you mean we’re - I’m -” Stiles couldn’t seem to connect his thoughts, his brain firing all over the place. 

“You’re mine. My mate,” Derek said, like it was just that simple. 

There was a moment of silence, Stiles frowning at the ground, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to figure out how the hell to react. Because it wasn’t like he was upset, necessarily, or was he? It wasn’t like he was angry at Derek, but there was anger somewhere in there, directed at something. And shock. And relief to find out that he wasn’t crazy, and there was actually an explanation for all of this. And deeper still, his wolf - for lack of a better word, his wolf was elated. Stiles tried to ignore it, but it was still there, a bubble of happiness in the back of his mind, sort of ruining the storm of everything else that was happening. 

“How long have you known? That we - uh,” Stiles asked, making eye contact for a split second before looking away, looking anywhere else. 

“I -”

“How long, Derek?”

Another sigh. “I’ve known since - the first time I touched you. Well, skin to skin.”

Stiles eyes grow wide, his memories shooting past, trying to remember when they had first touched. He remembers the wolfsbane bullet - the car? The clinic? Did they touch? It was likely that somewhere in there they had - he vaguely remembers Derek on the floor, Stiles freaked the fuck out and thinking he was dead. 

“When - the wolfsbane. I was unconscious, right after threatening you and - you were touching my face. You woke me up and I - I was really out of it, so I didn’t realize it right away. I thought I was hallucinating. But then - when I was arguing in the car. With Scott. And you wouldn’t stop interrupting me. You were so goddamn DISTRACTING. And I just - decided to deal with it later. And then it became later. And then later. And then it was too late.”

Stiles watched as Derek sunk into the couch, arms leaning on his knees. He looked defeated, and Stiles hated it. Hated seeing him like this - hated that Derek hadn’t even tried to tell him, hadn’t even HINTED - 

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Stiles breathed out, and Derek looked up at him with such regret and guilt that Stiles had to look away. “I would have - I -”

“What, Stiles? What the hell would you have thought of me? Would you really have wanted this?”

“I would have liked a choice, Derek! Now I don’t have one!”

That hurt, and Stiles saw it cut deep a moment too late. He wished he could take back the words, take back the pained expression that crossed Derek’s face so seldomly these days. Make the dark, heavy scent of grief clear the air. 

“Derek, I didn’t mean - I don’t - I don’t know what to do here, okay? It’s not like, this is, is BAD, it’s just - it’s a lot, okay?” Stiles said, and Derek nodded once. 

“I know. But this is a lot for me too, okay?”

Stiles didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t want to think about Derek, about the pain that he had - was - going through, about how everything was simpler and more complicated now. He didn’t want to DEAL with all that because he hadn’t even figured himself out yet. 

“I have to go,” he said, and moved towards the door, expecting Derek to stop him. Derek didn’t, he didn’t even move. Stiles slid the door closed behind him, and felt traitorous tears pricking at his eyes. He ran down the stairs, shifted and took off as fast as he could, running towards something, anything else. 

 

\-------------------

He ended up at Scott’s house, not realizing that there was a pack meeting. He had obviously been disinvited for a reason, as when he entered the room, everyone was silent and Scott looked really worried. 

“Stiles! Uh. I didn’t realize -”

“I’m Derek’s mate,” Stiles gets out, still breathing hard. There is more silence in the room, a heavier, knowing silence. 

As he looks around, no one looking back at him, he realizes that _everyone else knew._

So he ran.

\------------------------------------

Stiles ran for hours - watched the sun rise and set, killed something in the woods and ate it, ripped a hole in his jeans, letting the wolf inside him take over so he wouldn’t have to fucking THINK about anything. It was probably a day, maybe two before he shifted back and went to Scott, letting him know that he was alive. Scott made him call his dad, who yelled a little, then said he loved him and to come home sometime. Stiles hung up the phone and then grilled Scott for everything he knew about mates, even though he wasn’t exactly a wealth of knowledge. Scott knew some stuff, but kept telling him that Derek would know more, he should ask Derek, Derek, Derek, until Stiles finally got fed up and left. He was irrationally angry at the whole situation, at Scott, at his lack of information, at the pack for knowing about it, at Derek for not telling Stiles, at werewolves for existing in general, and at himself for no reason. He was just mad, and burned out, and incredibly exhausted. Stiles started towards his dad’s house, and before he realized, he found himself standing on the curb outside Derek’s loft. 

It was as if some force had pulled him back here - something had dragged him along the streets until he was standing in the dark hallway, listening through the door to the heartbeat he would have recognized miles away. 

Now that he thought about it, there was literally a force pulling him here - it had always been pulling him here. Derek had told him and Scott had reiterated that humans couldn’t feel it, the bond, but Stiles wondered how true that really was - he had felt safer here, felt better when Derek was around, felt somehow more at ease whenever the older werewolf was around. Was that just him? Or was it some echo of what they were to each other?

He could smell Derek, through the door, and hear his heart picking up speed the longer Stiles stood outside, not making a move to enter. He hated that he could hear everything - he just wanted some peaceful ignorance, okay? But that luxury was gone. And here he was. 

Derek’s footsteps grew in volume as he approached the door, and Stiles held his breath. Derek stood for another minute, waiting, and then slid the door open, letting light spill onto Stiles. Stiles almost had to take a step back from the onslaught of scent, the _home_ and _pack_ and _want_ that rushed through him - if he hadn’t stepped backwards, surely he would have fallen right into Derek’s arms, inhaling deeply and wrapping up tight. 

“Are you going to stand in the hallway all night or come inside?” Derek asked, his voice tired and rough. 

Stiles looked up in surprise, finding that Derek looked as rough as he sounded, dark circles under his eyes and stress lining his face. He was still in the clothes that Stiles had left him in, days ago, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. 

“Are - are you okay, man?”

Derek huffed, smiling wryly, and said, “Yeah, sure.” He turned to go back inside the loft, leaving Stiles at the open door. Stiles watched as he grabbed a bottle from the counter and flopped down onto the couch. Stiles hesitated, not knowing the proper procedure he was supposed to follow (if there even was one for this,) and then gave up and followed Derek inside, shutting the door. He sat on the opposite end of the couch, close enough to satiate his wolf but far enough away to keep from doing anything stupid. 

“Are you hungry?” Derek asked. Stiles shook his head no. There was a long, stretching silence, both waiting for something - anything.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Stiles asked quietly, and Derek’s eyes snapped over to his. They just stared at each other for what seemed like forever, until Stiles cleared his throat, louder than necessary. 

“Derek,” he said, and he didn’t know how to feel about the name on his lips. 

“I don’t know,” Derek said, looking down at his hands. “It didn’t seem like - didn’t seem like you would want that. Want. Me.”

Stiles eyes were wide, and he could feel his mouth hanging open.

“So you were just gonna stay quiet about the whole thing? Not tell me, EVER? Seriously? Scott says it HURTS -”

“It did! It - does.”

_“How much does it really hurt?”  
“....”_

“Then what the hell? Are you petitioning for martyr of the year?”

“Stiles, I didn’t know what to say! Everything sounded stupid, ‘Hey, by the way, we’re mates, super secret werewolf style, and you can’t feel it because you’re human but everyone else can and it sucks a little bit but hey, will you date me?’”

The question hung in the air, almost tangible. Stiles took a deep breath in, and watched as Derek fidgeted. 

“That - might have worked.”

“Really, Stiles? You can barely stand me.”

“You know that’s not true,” Stiles said, angry. They had come a long way over the years, he and Derek. Yeah, at first they had made each other crazy, but now they were friends. Or, he thought so. “I thought - we were friends.”

“We are. I’m sorry,” Derek said, putting his head in his hands. Stiles had the strongest urge to touch, to comfort, and he reached out a hand without thinking about it. His fingers slid through Derek’s thick hair, and Derek made a wounded noise, leaning into the touch. Stiles felt warm all over, content to be making his mate happy.

Mate.

Stiles shot backwards on the couch, startling Derek, who turned questioning eyes on him. He saw Stiles shocked look, and Derek’s face fell, clouded over and turned dark again.

“Derek, sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“I know, Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek said, and stood up. He took his bottle to the kitchen counter, standing there for a moment before heading towards the spiral staircase in the corner. 

“Derek -”

“You can stay as long as you want. You can stay here whenever you want, okay? I’m just - I’m gonna go to bed.”

Stiles didn’t respond, not needing to, watching Derek silently climb the stairs and close the door behind him. He didn’t know what to do. He played with his phone until his eyes started to droop, turning to lay out on the couch, hoping blindly that Derek would come back down. His heart stayed steady, so Stiles knew he wasn’t asleep, but he also wasn’t going to reappear. Stiles didn’t plan on staying, but he ended up nodding off sometime after 1am, phone slipping out of his hand onto the floor. 

\-------------

 

Stiles woke in Derek’s loft, neck stiff, not knowing where he was. It smelled GOOD, wherever it was, but it wasn’t his house. He creaked open one eye, and suddenly remembered - Derek, the fight, the couch, the...coffee? 

There was a steaming mug on the table next to the couch, smelling like heaven, and as Stiles sat up he found he had been covered with a blanket and someone - Derek - had taken his shoes off. His phone was plugged into the wall, using the spare charger he had started keeping at the loft after forgetting to bring his over one too many times. Something twisted inside his stomach at the idea that Derek kept it, probably in a drawer somewhere, and he had taken care of Stiles in his sleep. Stiles reached for the coffee, taking a deep drink. It was stuffed with creamer and sugar like he used to take it, before he turned, and there was another twist as he realized Derek wouldn’t know about his wolf apparently preferring plain milk to cream - the sweetness was too strong now.

Derek wasn’t here - Stiles couldn’t hear him. He wondered how long he’d been gone. Not long; the coffee was warm, not hot. The room smelled delicious, and it took him a second to realize that it wasn’t just the smell of Derek - there was something else too, and his nose led him to the oven, where upon opening it he found a plate of pancakes and bacon, warming. 

“Fuckin SWEET,” he crowed, throwing a fist in the air. Derek was the best. Even if they were sort of - in a weird place. 

Stiles wasted no time getting out a fork and the syrup - he knew Derek’s kitchen better than anyone, including Derek, and digging in. He was down to the last pancake, the bacon already demolished, when he picked up Derek’s heartbeat outside. He scowled a little, not knowing how he felt about recognizing the sound from so far away - but hey, mates, right? 

“God, this is so weird,” he said to himself, and to his surprise, Derek replied, even though he was still on the stairs. 

“Really? I made them myself, I thought you liked pancakes.”

“No, idiot, the pancakes are delicious.”

“Glad you liked them.”

The door slid open, and there was Derek, in nothing but tight, workout shorts, a little too short to be legal, and a sweat-covered tank top. He looked like sin. Stiles almost choked on his last bite. 

“You good?” Derek asked, twitching an eyebrow up.

Stiles nodded, chewing, not trusting his voice. He realized, belatedly, that Derek could most definitely hear his heartbeat, just like Stiles could hear Derek’s, and could most DEFINITELY smell the arousal that was no doubt curling around Stiles as he stared. He politely didn’t say anything, but stood there silently, waiting for Stiles to say something, or more likely, ignore it. 

He did the latter. 

“Thanks for the food. And the coffee,” Stiles said, looking down, away, ANYWHERE but at Derek Hale and his gorgeous body. 

“Anytime.”

“And - Derek?”

“Yeah?” Derek paused on the way up to his bedroom.

“I’m sorry. I - I’m sorry I didn’t know and I’m sorry if I hurt you and - I’m sorry I’m not handling this well.”

Derek looked flabbergasted, not sure how to respond. Stiles watched as he opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally settling on something.

“It’s a lot. You’re handling it fine.”

“But -”

“It’s fine, Stiles. Really.” And Derek was gone, turning the shower on moments later. Stiles stood abruptly, not needing the visual image of Derek, naked, with water running down his body. He needed to leave. Like NOW.

He thought about leaving a note or something, even though he had already said thank you - it felt weird just taking off. 

He drew a smiley face in the leftover syrup on his plate and called it good enough. 

 

\-------------------

 

He hadn’t seen Derek since the night he accidentally stayed over, and it was starting to really bother him. Something was gnawing on his stomach, a deep seated ache that he refused to acknowledge. He didn’t know how to face it. He didn’t know what it meant. 

Disregarding the fact that it was near-impossible to get a straight answer out of him, and he was only helpful in very unhelpful ways, Stiles went to Deaton. Coming up to the door, Stiles felt for the first time the burning restriction of mountain ash, throwing him away from the swinging door as he tried to waltz in like he usually did. 

“Deaton, I can’t get in!” He yelled, knowing the vet was in the back, giving a pill to a puppy. The clinic had always smelled like wet dog an antiseptic, but it was sharper now, and Stiles could tell exactly what animals were inside and how sick they were. He could smell the rusty flavors of magical herbs that Deaton kept stocked, different from the cold tang of regular medication. It was almost overwhelming, but he kept thinking about Derek, and it calmed his mind. 

“Sorry, Stiles, I had forgotten.” Deaton broke the ash line and gestured for Stiles to follow him.

In the examination room, he was given a weird flash of deja vu - he hadn’t been here since he woke up a werewolf, and it was disconcerting to say the least. Deaton had smartly put away the dog he had been medicating - Stiles remembered the animal’s reaction to Scott when he first turned.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m assuming you knew. About- Derek and I,” Stiles said, not even pretending to small talk.

“That you are mates, yes, I was aware.”

“Everybody apparently knew, except, you know, ME.”

“That was a choice on Derek’s part, and I saw no reason to meddle.”

“You never see reason to meddle,” Stiles mumbled. Deaton didn’t react except to incline his head.

“Was there something you actually wanted or did you come here to state the obvious?”

“Hilarious, Doc, you shoulda been a comedian.”

Deaton just looked at him, which had never stopped being unnerving.

“No, sorry, I just - don’t know what to do now?”

"Do you not want to be Derek's mate?"

Stiles had a brief moment of panic because he didn't _know._ It wasn't like it was an unappealing idea, and it's not like the thought hadn't been rolling around in his head for days, playing with him, taunting him. Before he got turned, he most definitely thought about Derek in a romantic sort of way, not just because he was hot like burning, but because he was stupidly loyal and self-sacrificing, so much kinder and sensitive than his rough exterior portrayed. Stiles didn't know what to do with the fact that Derek had kept silent about the mates thing for so long, just because he didn't want to freak Stiles out or make him uncomfortable. It was - it was too much, all at once. He also had started to feel compelled to touch and help and just be AROUND Derek, and that was freaking him out a little bit. He didn't like that suddenly he was part of some big fate thing, unable to control himself and plan his own life. The whole Nogitsune thing had made him paranoid of the sudden disappearance of his freedom and independence, and he clung to his own consciousness like a lifeboat. Getting turned was just making everything - complicated.

"It's not that," he told Deaton, who had been waiting patiently. "It's not that at all. Derek is - he's - anyone would be lucky to have him. I'm - I'm lucky to have him, in any context, but I don't like the idea that I don't get to choose. This whole mate thing - it just. It bothers me."

"That's understandable, especially for a recently turned wolf. Born wolves are brought up with the knowledge and understanding for the potential of mates -"

"Potential? Like - as in, this doesn't happen to everyone?"

"No, Mr. Stilinski." Stiles scowled at the formal title, Deaton ignored him. "Mates are actually fairly rare in werewolf culture, only showing up about 25% of the time. I have only come across two pairs."

Stiles looked up to meet Deaton's eyes, the question not needing to be asked. 

"You and Derek, and Derek's parents."

Stiles sucked in a breath. That just made everything a little more tender and emotionally painful and complicated, damnit.

"I don't know exactly what advice you are expecting from me. You are Derek's mate, and that is not going to change. You can choose to ignore the bond. I have heard of people going about their lives like that. But I will warn you - that will be much more difficult and painful for you both."

Stiles nodded his understanding.

"The other choice, of course, is to just let fate take it's course and be Derek's mate. There are worse things, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles didn't need to be reminded of that. Derek was - a stubborn asshole, that's what. But he was also everything that Stiles needed and there was no ignoring that they were a little bit perfect together. He was loathe to say it out loud though, especially in front of Deaton.

"Thanks, doc. I guess." Stiles knocked on the wall once, waving slightly as he left. Deaton didn't say anything. Typical.  
\-----------------

At the next pack meeting, Derek was - hovering. It was still kind of weird anyway. Stiles had finally settled as a werewolf, everyone allowing him to act and fight like one instead of the constant ‘fragile human’ mentality that had been in place before. But Derek was still an enigma, still something Stiles couldn’t put his finger on. _Mates._ Stiles was still trying to wrap his head around that, it, this whole thing. Werewolf on TOP of that, Stiles was just trying to wade through it all without freaking out. 

He was in the kitchen at one point, getting another soda, when Derek came in, saw Stiles, looked panicked for a split second, and then turned to leave. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, stopping him. Derek turned back around, raising an eyebrow in question and trying very hard to not look like he had been about to bolt.

“Don’t - don’t make this weirder than it already is, okay?”

Derek just looked at him for a moment, and Stiles sighed, turning back to the fridge to pull out a Dr. Pepper. Derek came over towards him, stopping him from closing to door so he could grab one too. Stiles mouth twitched upwards, and Derek squeezed the back of his neck, just like he used to all the time before Stiles got turned. 

Both walked back into the living room, Stiles feeling more at ease. He noticed that Derek’s shoulders had relaxed a bit, and it left him smiling.  
\--------------------------

“When are you gonna stop being dicks to each other?”

Stiles shoved roughly at Malia’s shoulder, who growled and flashed her eyes. They were in Stiles room, where they always hung out, sprawled out on his bed. He remembers kissing her here, but the memory is gray - he doesn’t feel the draw to her like he used to. 

“Nobody is being a dick to anyone else,” Stiles said.

“Okay but ignoring each other isn’t any better, it’s like the freaking Cold War at pack meetings.”

Stiles shot her a look. She shrugged, a Twizzler hanging out of her mouth.

“What? I learned some stuff in my last two years of high school. I’m a college girl now, same as the rest of you idiots.”

Stiles snorted and pushed her again, she just pushed back and snapped his laptop shut, cackling when Stile dropped his jaw in faux-offense. 

“You need to just go fuck him,” she said, poking him in the side. 

“Malia. No.” 

“Why NOT, Stiles. He’s hot.”

“I know he’s hot - that’s not - that’s - dammit, that’s not the problem.”

Malia turned on her side, propping her chin up on her hand. “Stiles. Don’t be an idiot. Why aren’t you fucking that yet? I know you’re totally in love with him.”

“MALIA. Shut up. I am not.”

“You have been since high school.”

“I have n-” Stiles stopped, knowing all too well that she would be able to hear the jump in his heartbeat if he lied. She raised an eyebrow, and he covered his face with his hands. 

“Stiles. What is the real problem?”

He exhaled slowly.

“Okay. It’s like this,’ Stiles said, his hands still covering his face. "I need to be in control of my own life. Well, like, plausibly in control. And this mates thing? I can't - I can't EXPLAIN that. It makes me feel like someone else is calling the shots."

"Why is that so bad?"

"Because LAST time someone else was calling the shots in my life instead of me, I... People got hurt."

Malia pulled Stiles hands off his face, hovering over him with her typical you're-an-idiot glare. "Stiles, that wasn't your fault."

_It was all you. It’s you, **Stiles**.  
You killed your mother. And now you’re killing me._

"But it's true."

Never one for comfort, she just smacked his forehead. "This is nothing like that, dumbass. You have a choice in this, which you are avoiding, even though we all know it's what you want."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Please. You've been half in love with Derek Hale since that kelpie almost drowned him 2 years ago. We all know already."

Stiles spluttered his defense, sitting up. "What are you - no, I - that's not true."

"Or was it after the saber tooth thing in the woods? Or the dwarf! I remember that, the way you were just STARING at him, it was so obvious -"

She yelped as he shoved her off the bed.

"Shut up. That's not true. I just - he's hot! And funny! Sometimes. Doesn't mean I want to be his mate."

"You want to, you want to fuck him into next week and have his growly wolf BABIES!" She yelled, until Stiles covered her face with a pillow, laughing despite himself. 

\----------

"I'm fine, it's fine," Derek said, voice hoarse. Stiles didn't know whether to yell at him or cry into his shoulder.

"You are NOT fine, you masochistic idiot, God, can you not see the fucking barbed WIRE that has healed underneath your skin?"

Scott put a warning hand on Stiles arm, and Stiles made himself take a deep breath. Derek had been wrapped in the stuff, the barbed wire cutting deep. Some hunter's kids thought it was fun to torture werewolves, and honestly, he was lucky the fuckwad hadn't overdone it with the mistletoe. Derek had practically had the stuff hanging from his eyebrows because the kid wanted to inhibit him enough to test the werewolf healing factor. 

Derek was barely able to stay up on his feet, and every time he moved the wire would cut and dig into his skin, which, of course, would just heal over again. It was wrapped twice around his left arm and over his shoulder, coming down his chest and ending in a knot on his right ribs. 

“Stiles, don’t worry, I’m -”

“If you say you’re fine one more time Derek I swear to God I will finish the job and kill you myself.” 

Derek huffed, an almost laugh, but he didn’t argue. Scott and Stiles helped Derek sit down on the table in the loft, Derek’s face a stony mask the whole time. Allison was on the phone with Deaton in the corner, and Erica was pacing, back and forth, while Boyd stood with his arms crossed. The kid, the hunter kid, was tied up in the corner, Isaac watching him, trying and mostly succeeding to look threatening while carving up a piece of wood with his claws. Stiles supposed Isaac’s intimidation attempt worked better when you hadn’t seen him cry at the Notebook and drawn a dick on his face while he was sleeping.

“Where’s Deaton?” Stiles asked, not even turning to look at Allison. He couldn’t look away from Derek.

“He’s at that emissary conference thing still - hours away. He says there’s not much he could do anyway..we have to cut it out.” She looked determined, and that was terrifying.

“Cut it out? Just slice him up?!”

“What..were you ex- expecting?” Derek stuttered, trying to grin.

_And that’s what keeps you human. Pain._

“Shut up, you have no talking privileges while there is metal underneath your epidermis,” Stiles said, biting his thumbnail.

“Well that..rules out that piercing I’ve always...wanted.”

He was smiling, the stupid fuck. He was in excruciating, extended pain after being tortured and he was SMILING. Who gave him the right? Stiles didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Stiles, you don’t have to. Boyd and I-”

“I want to help,” Stiles said, cutting Scott off. He got a raised eyebrow, which was ignored, and then put a hand gently on Derek’s uninjured shoulder. 

“We’ll start on your arm, okay, just - try not to move.”

“I’m okay, Stiles,” Derek said, and Stiles just looked at him, unable to word his feelings. 

“No, you’re not,” is all he could come up with. 

Erica came over to the table and flicked her claws out. Stiles didn’t say anything, not surprised that she was the first to move. She took a long look at Derek, who nodded minisculely, and then cut into the raised skin at his wrist. Stiles could feel Derek’s breath freeze and they could all hear his heartbeat rise, but he didn’t move.

Erica dug the wire out, barb by barb, Scott holding the line as it was removed from Derek. Stiles supported his weight from the back, unable to look away but feeling sick the whole time. Derek was freakishly still, like a statue, and Stiles was both impressed and upset by it. Once Erica had gotten to the shoulder, Scott sliced the wire and tossed that part on the floor, taking a second to glare at the kid. He whimpered. Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to grin.

“Stiles, can you - uh,” Erica looked at him, and he could see her wondering whether or not he was okay to help. 

“Yeah. Yes. I - I’m sorry Derek,” he whispered the last part into Derek’s shoulder, pressing his lips into the skin and for once, not wondering why. 

He pushed his claws out, letting go of Derek’s arm, which Erica took instead. He stared at the bloody and lifted skin on Derek’s shoulder for a split second before just shutting down his thoughts and focusing on what he had to do. He cut the skin and removed the wire with precision, not sparing a glance anywhere but the tanned skin below him, pretending it was paper, clay, pretending it was anything other than what it was. He cut all the way down Derek’s chest, ignoring the shallow breaths and slight tremors, never looking up at his face. 

When he got down to his ribs, it was in deeper, stuck between two of this ribs, and it took a long, bloody, and definitely painful time to get the end out. Derek stayed silent through the whole thing, and Stiles had to make himself concentrate over and over. He was chanting Fall Out Boy lyrics in his head, or what he THOUGHT the lyrics were, just to keep his mind from freaking out. 

He didn’t realize he was done until Derek moved, knocking him from whatever trance he had been in. Derek grabbed his wrist, which was dripping with blood at this point, and tilted Stiles chin up to look him in the eyes. He looked CONCERNED. Derek looked worried for him, worried that Stiles wasn’t okay after that, even though Derek had been the one in pain and tortured and cut open and Stiles couldn’t take it. Something in him broke, and he lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Derek’s shoulders, clinging on for dear life. He was crying, maybe, a little, and Derek just took his weight, patting soothingly on his back and pressing his face into Stiles neck. Something inside him, his ‘wolf,’ or whatever, settled, and he felt more grounded and at peace than he had since he’d been bitten. Derek’s warmth seeped through his clothes, and he just breathed in the scent of him, sure that Derek was doing the same.

They were like that for a long time, not moving, until Derek twisted a little, making a pained noise. Stiles instantly leapt off of him, worried he had hurt him in some way. Derek’s arms reached out to him and he made another noise, trying to pull Stiles back in. Stiles took one of his hands, wrapping it in his own. 

“You okay now?”

Derek nodded, sighing and dropping his other hand. Stiles felt the absence of heat all over his body, but resisted melting back into Derek when Scott clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Deaton says you’ll be woozy for a while, blood loss and all, but your healing will take care of it. Maybe have someone stay over tonight just to be sure?” Scott said, looking at Derek but nodding in Stiles direction.

“That’s not necessary, I’m fi -”

“I’ll stay here,” Stiles says quickly, and squeezes Derek’s hand a little too tight when Derek glares at him.

“Okay, good. Isaac and I are gonna drop the little shit off at Argent’s house so he can shake him up, and I’m sure they’ll be sending you a fruit basket or something.”

“Make it two,” Derek grumbles, his voice rough. He smiles wryly at Stiles, but that drops to a frown when Stiles doesn’t smile back. 

“Feel better, Der,” Erica says, smacking a kiss on his cheek. Boyd gives him a salute, Isaac is carrying the kid over his shoulder and they’re gone, leaving Derek and Stiles alone in the loft. 

Stiles let go of Derek’s hand, just then realizing he was still holding it, and rubbed his eyes. It was late, and had been kind of long day, chasing after Derek and his crazy-ass kidnapper.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, and Stiles dropped his hands to stare at him.

“What?” Derek asked, crossing his arms with a wince.

“You are unbelievable,” Stiles said, shaking his head. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Derek! You have just been hunted, tortured, in excruciating pain, and cut open over and over again and you keep asking ME if I’M okay? Why? WHY are you even concerned about me?” Stiles stopped, realizing he had been waving his arms and pacing. Derek was just looking at him, eyes still tight with concern.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

“My only concern is you. Ever.”

Stiles eyes widened at Derek’s words, Derek’s confession of sorts. 

“I -”

“Stiles, it doesn’t matter if I’m hurt, that’s not -”

“Fuck that, Derek, shut up, okay? Your hurt does matter. Your pain does matter, could you stop acting like you’re not allowed to feel pain?”

“You -”

“No. Shut up. You have this martyr complex bigger than Joan of Arc and never ever think about yourself - which, I mean, good for the whole older-brother deal you have going on with the pack and the help with Scott and - and - you’re so kind and compassionate and fucking selfless all the time and I love - that. About you. I do,” Stiles sighed, losing steam. “You’re incredible. But your pain DOES matter. You matter more than - more than you think.”

Derek was silent, staring at Stiles with a kind of wonder that Stiles didn’t know what to do with. They were still standing close, maybe too close for propriety, but Derek still felt too far away. Stiles wanted to bury his face in his stubble and hold him close, comforting him in the best way he knew how. 

So he did. 

Derek made a noise of surprise, and Stiles had a second or two to feel guilty before Derek’s arms were wrapped tightly around Stiles’ shoulders, just as tightly as Stiles was wrapped around Derek’s ribs. Stiles buried his nose in the short hair behind Derek’s ear, letting Derek do the same, and the absolute rightness of the moment sunk into his bones and he could find nothing wrong with the world in that moment. 

“I thought you were still - keeping your distance,” Derek said quietly.

“Me too,” Stiles said, and tightened his hold.

\-----------------------------------

 

It was really late, sometime around 3 probably the following weekend, with the pack on varying levels of drunkenness around the loft. Boyd had been experimenting with infusing liquor with wolfsbane to inebriate the werewolves. Derek had helped, remembering some tricks from his dad’s stash. Stiles had taken a shine to the chocolate flavored bottle and had practically downed the whole thing himself. Derek was a solid weight behind him on the couch, warm with body heat and booze. There was a card game going around at one point, but Stiles had lost had track of it and was currently getting distracted by the shape of Derek’s lips while he laughed at something Erica said. 

Derek looked down at him, grinning, and Stiles was dizzy from it, his eyes trying to take him all in at once. But it was impossible - Derek was too much. At first, when they had met, Stiles hadn’t seen it, hadn’t seen the depth of him, but now, years later, it was blinding. 

Stiles leaned forward, vision fuzzy, and Derek gave him a confused look, tilting his head to the right. Stiles smiled at him and then softly pressed their lips together, leaning into Derek and just _feeling_ for a moment. 

It was short, and chaste, and when he pulled away Derek was staring at him with wide eyes. Stiles then realized that the whole room had gone dead silent, and the rest of the pack was staring at him. It hit him all at once, the cold shock of realization sobering to say the least. That wasn’t NORMAL, to just lean in and fucking kiss Derek. Why the hell had he done that? What had he done? What had that meant? Did he want it to mean anything? And the worst one - why had it felt so right?

“I, uh, I’ll be back,” he said, stumbling onto his feet and moving as fast as he could towards the bathroom. 

He slammed the door behind him and gripped tightly to the sink, not meeting his reflection yet. His claws were out, he realized belatedly, and he was scratching the porcelain, but couldn’t stop. He looked into the mirror and saw his eyes glowing blue, breathing hard. 

“What?” He asked himself, and then mentally cursed because everyone else in the damn house could hear him and he couldn't have this crisis out loud like a normal person. 

He had just kissed him without thinking, it had been so normal and natural and now that Stiles was thinking about it he just wanted to do it again. And again. And always, if he could. 

But was that because STILES wanted to, or because his wolf wanted his mate? Were they even any different at this point? Stiles’ head was spinning. 

There was a knock at the door, and he inhaled sharply. 

“It’s me,” came Erica’s voice. Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. 

“Okay,” he said, and the door swung open. She entered, and then clicked it closed, leaning back on it. 

“Stiles,” she said, and he stared at her. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

“No, you look like shit.”

“How is it that all the people in my life are assholes? Especially the girls? How is this my life?”

“You’re an asshole. So it’s actually your own fault. People attract other people at the same level of their assholy-ness,” she smirked, and damn if she hadn’t pulled a smile out of his panicked state already. 

“What do I do, Erica? What?”

Her face sobered, and she quirked her eyebrow, assessing him. “I think, hon, that you’re fighting it too much. You’re battling against something that you actually want, and that’s the dumbest thing I’ve seen you do yet.”

“I agree,” came a deep voice from the hallway. Stiles couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed Boyd was standing right outside, his heart beat was obvious now that Stiles listened for it. 

“Thanks, guys,” Stiles said, rubbing his face with his now-clawless hands. 

“Do what you want, Stilinski,” Boyd said, opening the door, “but I think - we think - that you’re just dragging out something that could be really good.”

“You guys think he - we would be good? Together?”

“You already are,” Erica said, patting his cheek and then slipping out the door, her hand in Boyd’s.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Boyd said, rolling his eyes and leaving Stiles alone again. He looked back in the mirror, sighing, eyes nothing but a warm brown.

\--------------------------------------------------

The first time he sparred with Derek was the thing that maybe freaked Stiles out the most.

It had been a few days since the accidental kiss, no one mentioning it, Derek acting weird around him again just like in the beginning. Stiles hated it. He was angry and touchy and snapped at Scott for practically nothing. Isaac dragged him outside, saying he needed to blow off steam. Allison had been practicing shooting all morning with Lydia, Kira and Malia, and Boyd and Derek were fighting, shirtless in the cool air. Stiles didn’t stare. Not one bit. 

Scott tackled him as soon as he was off the porch, knocking him over. Stiles laughed once he got his breath back and gave as good as he got. He’d gotten a lot better since he got turned, practicing with one of the wolves almost everyday, and even had a dodging match with Allison and her arrows. Derek was the only one he hadn’t fought.

“Derek!” He called, pinning Scott down for a few precious seconds. Derek stopped, Boyd in a headlock, and looked over at him. 

“Wanna switch partners?”

Derek’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawing down, but he nodded once, letting Boyd go. 

Stiles had almost an advantage against his more-experienced werewolf brethren - he knew their weaknesses from years of watching them practice and spar and fight, and nobody knew him well enough yet. He’d even won against Scott, once, with his stupid Alpha strength and all. 

Derek stood, tense, staring at him. He wouldn’t be the one to make the first move, too conditioned to be on the defensive. Stiles paced in front of him, never breaking eye contact, and then all at once, pounced. 

Derek flipped him over his head, but Stiles twisted at the last second, hooking at arm around Derek’s neck and landing heavily against Derek’s broad back. It knocked the wind out of him, and then he was flying over Derek’s head, Derek bending his body forward and using gravity to his advantage. Stiles jumped off him rather than just fall, and landed on all fours, turning quickly to find Derek rushing him. He side-stepped and ducked, keeping a foot out to trip Derek. Derek gracefully stepped over the extended ankle, grabbing it to pull Stiles towards him. Stiles twisted sharply, yanking his foot out of the hold and swiping at Derek’s shoulders with his claws. He caught skin, and his hand came away red. 

There was a moment of hesitation, where he didn’t know how Derek would react. The wolves cut each other up all the time, blood was not a new thing, and the cuts healed almost instantly. Derek straightened up, wiped at his shoulder, seeing the blood. His eyes narrowed, and then a predatory grin crossed his face before he lunged, a growl coming from deep in his chest. 

It was more of a dance than a fight, it seemed. It was like they could read each other’s mind, their movements fluid. Derek had the upper hand in strength, but Stiles was a lot faster and ducked under Derek’s legs more than once. They spun together, getting hits in occasionally but never something big. Both had streaks of blood on their faces and hands when they paused, breathing heavily, Stiles holding up a hand to gesture a break. 

“Guys,” Erica said, and Stiles turned to see the entire pack just STARING at them, Scott and Malia with their mouths wide open. 

“What?” Stiles asked, and he turned to Derek. There was something burning there in his eyes, and Stiles wanted to look away but couldn’t. 

“That was fucking amazing,” Boyd said, and that startled Stiles right out of his trance. Boyd did not compliment lightly.

“R- really?” Stiles asked, and even Lydia nodded. 

He looked back at Derek and could see electric blue leeching into his eyes. Stiles felt his own wolf bristling, wanting to shift and move and RUN - but mostly he wanted to attack Derek. In the good way. He was itching to get his mouth all over the stubble on Derek’s neck and run his hands down his chest and - 

Scott coughed, and Stiles stiffened. 

“Uh. Well. It’s - I have to - um. My dad. Yep. Gotta go,” and he turned to take off through the woods. Derek didn’t call after him, and he buried the sudden realization that he was disappointed by that. 

\-------------------------------  
Stiles felt like he had been on edge for weeks. It was an everyday, on-going, terrible stress to be Derek’s mate and not be Derek’s mate. It was making him crazy, and his own physical reactions to Derek’s presence were NOT helping his peace of mind, or lack thereof. He had gone running, blasted music, even cleaned out the damn refrigerator before he decided he needed to RELAX-relax, as is some private time with him and himself. 

His dad was out working late, and he had the house to himself. He found himself in bed, his hand sliding beneath the elastic on his boxers, and Derek flashing across his vision. There was an immediate reaction, the good kind, and Stiles sat up, freaking out a little bit. He didn’t, _desperately_ didn’t want to think about Derek during this, but now there was no way to get the expanse of tan shoulders, the sharp cheekbones and perfect lips, the rough, large hands out of his head. He groaned and lay back down, giving up and giving in to the apparent bank of memories he had stored up about Derek. There were more images than he knew what to do with, and soon he was picturing Derek’s lips circling the head of his dick, sliding slowly down to the base and back up again. He was panting, hard, and had to concentrate a little bit on his claws as to not prick himself. He could see the reflection of his own blue eyes in the dark room, and closed them to pull himself even further into his imagination. 

Derek was biting his neck now, he pictured, hand strong around Stiles’ erection, whispering deliciously dirty things into his ear. 

Fuck, Stiles, come for me - come, come on - come on, baby, come for me, Imaginary Derek whispered, and Stiles was cumming all over his hand, gasping from the force of it, eyes shooting open in shock.

He lay there on the bed for a minute, catching his breath, before yelling, “WHAT THE FUCK,” into the empty room and receiving cold silence as his answer. 

\---------------------------  
That Monday, after chasing down a rogue omega on the preserve, Derek and Stiles were driving back together, alone in Derek’s camaro.

“Does ‘soulmates’ automatically mean ‘in love’ with each other?” Stiles asked softly, breaking the silence.

There was a pause.

“No, not automatically,” Derek said, just as softly, the sentence left unfinished.

_But I do love you._

Stiles heard it anyway.

\---------------------------

It happened again, and again, and again. He found himself in balance with Derek, even more so than they had been before, equal and complementary. He caught himself daydreaming and lusting after the other werewolf all the time. He had had several ironically stress-inducing jerk-off sessions, and it was making Stiles crazy. But it wasn’t just that - he was also thinking about him, seeing things in stores he wanted to buy him, having the urge to curl up into Derek’s side on the couch. 

“Derek,” Stiles heard himself say, after a particularly annoying pack meeting in which Derek and Scott had almost come to blows. It happened a lot less, now, but they still butted heads now and then. 

“Are you okay?”

Everyone else had left already, trickling out after Kira had followed a stomping Scott. 

Derek sighed and collapsed back on the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, I just - I don’t want to fight with him.”

“He’s a stubborn asshole. Hey, just like you,” Stiles said, sitting next to him with a wide grin. Derek opened his eyes just to glare, and then leaned his head back with a groan.

“What’s the matter?” Stiles asked.

“Sore neck,” Derek grunted, wincing as he tilted his head back and forth.

Stiles sat up, and then pushed at Derek’s shoulder, ignoring the firmness of the muscle there. Derek looked at him, frowning, and Stiles pushed him again.

“Sit on the floor, you idiot,” Stiles said, and Derek huffed at him, but did as he was told.  
Derek settled himself between Stiles’ legs, and Stiles realized the intimacy of the offer a moment too late. He just looked down at Derek’s dark hair, until Derek tilted his head up to frown at him upside down. Curiously enough, an upside down frown still looked like a frown. 

Stiles pushed his head back up, and ran his fingers over Derek’s neck, feeling the tension there. He began digging his fingertips into Derek’s neck and shoulders, rewarded with a small groan. Derek leaned into the touch, and Stiles massaged over the skin, traveling down to his pecs and back up again (Stiles had to fight with himself not to linger), down his arms and then finally into Derek’s hair. He scratched all over the scalp, pointedly not mentioning the strange purr-like sound Derek was making in fear that it would stop. Derek titled his head up, laying it back in Stiles’ lap as Stiles traced lightly over Derek’s eyebrows, laughing when Derek pulled them down in a frown. He pushed until Derek’s face was smooth again, and then just looked at him. 

Derek’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed. Stiles was enamoured with how beautiful he was. Later, to convince his own guilty conscience, he would blame the light from the sun coming in the window, lighting up the lines in Derek’s face. 

Without really a thought, Stiles leaned down and lightly pressed his lips to Derek’s, Spiderman style. It was quick, warm, and sent a rush through his stomach as he pulled away to see Derek looking at him with wide eyes. Derek sat up and turned around, facing Stiles, taking both his hands.

“Stiles -”

“Sorry,” Stiles whispered, though he was leaning in as if to kiss Derek again. 

“Stiles, I thought - what are you -”

“Please, Derek, just - just -”

And then his lips were warm, their mouths gently touching, Derek softly cupping Stiles’ cheek. They moved together, slowly, and it was probably the sweetest kiss Stiles had ever had. He pushed his hands back into Derek’s hair, pulling him closer, drawing him in, needing more, more of everything. Derek made a noise and Stiles sucked it from his tongue. Derek was still kneeling between Stiles’ knees, and Stiles shifted closer, dragging their jeans together. Derek gasped, and Stiles bit his bottom lip, making a noise himself. 

“Stiles,” Derek gasped, and Stiles felt addicted to the way Derek said his name, breathless and wanting; the way his pupils were blown wide, his hair disheveled, face flushed. 

Stiles was reeling from the idea that he could do this to Derek. Derek wanted him, wanted this. He kissed Derek again, dragging it out and running his fingers across Derek’s shoulders. He reveled in the moans he was drawing out of Derek, the speed of his pulse, matching Stiles’ own as they kissed and kissed and started slowly rutting against each other. Stiles turned his attention to Derek’s neck, biting down harshly, sucking a bruise into the skin that would be gone in minutes. Derek gasped again, and Stiles caught his breath with his mouth, kissing softly again. 

“Derek,” Stiles mumbled against his lips. “I don’t - I need to stop.” His brain was barely functioning, but he knew that this probably wasn’t the smartest thing to be doing, his own libido be damned. 

Derek almost immediately stopped moving, trying to control his breathing, and leaned back from Stiles, eyes downward. 

“Derek,” Stiles said, pleadingly, trying to tilt his chin up.

“No, it’s fine. You’re right. Whatever you need, Stiles,” Derek said, gently pushing his hand away and standing up, turning from the couch. 

Stiles stood, bewildered. “What? Derek, come on, I just -”

“It’s fine,” Derek said, and Stiles set his mouth in anger, having a suddenly terrible thought. 

“What if I hadn’t told you to stop?” He asked, and Derek still didn’t turn towards him.

“I wouldn’t have stopped. As long as you wanted it.”

“So you would have let me just - take whatever I wanted, and then what?”

Derek was silent. 

“Derek, goddamnit, you can’t just let people TAKE things from you!” Stiles was yelling now, and Derek didn’t even flinch. In fact, he turned towards Stiles and grabbed his hand out of the air where it had been waving. 

“You cannot take something from me that I’m not freely giving. I will give you anything, anything you want, as much or as little as you want, for as long or as short as you want, Stiles. Anything to do with you is better than nothing at all.” 

Derek was staring at him, his eyes boring into Stiles’, hand warm as it cupped Stiles’ own. Stiles didn’t know what to say - couldn’t say anything, so he stood, gaping, staring at Derek with huge eyes. He hadn’t ever expected Derek - or anyone - to say something like that to him, and his own importance to Derek overwhelmed him to the point of speechlessness. 

“I’m in love with you, Stiles. And if you didn’t know that yet, then you’re not as smart as you seem.”

Derek dropped his hand and slowly, almost painfully, climbed the stairs to his room. Stiles didn’t know how long he stood there, next to the couch, staring at his hand, the ghost of Derek still upon it. Minutes, hours, sometime later he left, sliding the door closed with a echoing bang that sounded suspiciously final.

\-----------------------------------

Scott pulled Stiles out of his room 4 days later, demanding he come to the pack meeting. Stiles was literally hanging onto the doorframes, refusing, yelling all sorts of insults and threats and reasons, while Scott resolutely pushed against him, yelling back, saying he had moped long enough and he was a part of this pack, damn it, so he should start acting like it. 

They both fell silent when the sheriff cleared his throat from behind them. 

“Trouble, boys?” He asked, arms crossed.

“Stiles has been-” “Scott’s being ridiculous-” “-cooped up, moping like a-” “-there’s no reason for this kind of-” “-need him to come with me-” “-I refuse to be manhandled, I have rights-”

“Whoa, WHOA, shut up!” Stiles dad said, waving his hands. He pointed at Stiles. “You. You HAVE been acting strange for days. Scott is right. You’re part of the pack, so act like it and go to the meeting.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped, and he make an offended noise. “Father! How dare you! You’re supposed to be on MY side!”

“No, I’m supposed to take care of you. And this? This is not good for you. So go with Scott.”

They glared at each other for a moment, Scott still sort of pulling on Stiles’ arm, and then Stiles shoulders dropped and he exhaled. 

“Fine. You both suck.”

“Thanks, Sheriff! See you later!” Scott yelled behind him as Stiles was shoved out the door.

Stiles didn’t talk on the way there, arms crossed, mostly ignoring the commentary about this new set of arrowheads Allison had made and the headway Kira was making with the archery training. They pulled up to the loft, and Stiles shuffled his feet until Scott was pulling him again, dragging up the stairs and pounding on the door. 

Erica opened it, grinning like a crazy person, and Stiles brushed past her with a glare. She laughed. He glared more.

Derek had a sort of relief on his face when Stiles walked into the room, though he must have known he was here as soon as the car pulled up, if not before. Stiles held eye contact with him for only a moment, before chickening out and looking around the room for Lydia so he could complain to someone who would respond in kind. She was over by the counter, talking with Isaac. 

Stiles barely paid attention to the meeting, it was only a weekly update about the neighboring packs. Malia was absent, as was Boyd, and that made Stiles scowl more. Why did Stiles have to be here then?

“Can I talk to you?” Derek grabbed his arm as he stood up when they were done, and Stiles had to try way too hard not to lean into the touch, just melt against Derek’s warmth.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, shrugging off the hand and ignoring the hurt on Derek’s face. They went into the kitchen, the others still talking and joking around in the other room. 

“I don’t want this to be like this. I don’t want you - avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been -” Stiles started, but couldn’t finish the lie, even to himself. “I’m sorry. I’m just - thinking. A lot.” 

“I know. But I meant what I said - anything is better than nothing. I don’t want you to feel...pressure. Or anything. Just. Be here, with us. If you want.”

Derek looked so defeated it made Stiles’ chest ache. “I do. Want to be here, I’m sorry. I got too far in my own head. Like always.”

Derek almost smiled - almost. It was a start. 

Stiles found himself reaching for a hug without meaning to, and Derek accepted it without preamble, burying his face into Stiles’ neck. Something inside him loosened, and he just let the embrace soak into him, calming the storm that had been raging since the night they kissed. 

“I’m sorry, Derek.”

“Me too.”

\--------------------------------

It was better, after that. Still weird, and Stiles still had to squash impulses and ignore things, and Derek still looked at him in ways Stiles couldn’t deal with, but it was better. They were actually becoming really good friends, texting and hanging out far more often than before, with the pack and alone. Stiles never felt uncomfortable, albeit a little guilty, but it was okay.

They even had a few inside jokes, and every time he made Derek laugh from across the room by saying ‘donut holes’ in a Russian accent, he felt lighter. It was getting to the point where he was wondering why the hell he was resisting, why on earth he was waiting. But Stiles was still waiting for something. Disaster? Perhaps. It kept him up at night, obsessing over whether or not it was HIM liking Derek or the mate bond making him feel this way.

They texted pretty consistently, these days, and it always left Stiles a little worse for wear when they got into an actual conversation, or an argument, or Derek cracked a joke. Or they started edging towards something that could be considered _feelings._ Like right now. 

_So if Scott is Luke then I’m Obi? Don’t I die?_

**no!!! do not die under any circumstances, even if to keep accurate to the star wars representation that is us**   
**and ur not obi, peter is  
a very creepy obi**

_He’s allowed to die?_

**of any pack member? ya i pick peter**

_Okay, fine  
Who are you?_

**han solo, the best character for all eternity**

_He is kind of an asshole_

**HEY NOW  
ok ur right BUT  
u have to admit hes the best**

_I guess.  
Who does that make me?_

**...  
...  
…**

_Stiles, are you seriously telling me that you haven’t cast the whole pack?_

**no i def have but im laughing too hard to tell you who u r**

_...  
Oh my god Stiles I am NOT Princess Lea_

**and i quote “we’re BROTHERS now, scott”**

_YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT_

_YOU be Lea, I want Solo. I would look shitty in a dress. You, however…_

**FIGHT ME**

_Don’t tempt me._

Stiles dropped his phone onto his bed, a wave of _something_ hitting him in the chest. He couldn’t do this right now. It was too much and too easy and not nearly enough.

He went out for a run, just through the woods, and left his phone in his room, groaning at himself when he realized that he had cast Derek as his romantic opposite. It was like the universe was laughing at him. 

It was a gorgeous day, and he found himself walking, wandering, really, no direction in mind. He had nowhere to be, nothing to do. Just walking. This, of course, was a terrible idea because now he was just thinking about Derek, and his lack-of-Derek, and the abundance of Derek Related Feelings that were a constant presence in his head. He was angsting, yes he was. He sighed. He wished he could just make up his goddamn mind already and throw himself into those wolfy arms and have at it. 

But, wasn’t that a decision right there? Stiles stopped, mid-step. He wanted Derek. _He wanted Derek._ And it wasn’t any sort of mate thing, his wolf wasn’t even paying attention at the moment, it was pure Stiles. Stiles wants Derek. When did that happen? Was he actually cockblocking HIMSELF right now? 

Stiles turned, aiming back for Derek’s loft, heartbeat thumping in his chest. That's when something sharp stabbed through his shoulder. He cried out in pain, falling to his knees as his eyes started to water. His muscles clenched and his breath froze in his chest - whatever the fuck he had just been hit with was hard shit and worked FAST. He felt his face shift on instinct and he howled as loud as he could before blacking out.

\-------------------------

He woke up in the dark, and started coughing after trying to inhale - his chest was burning, and his breaths were shaky and not quite deep enough. He noticed then that his hands and feet were tied, and he hissed as he pulled at them, feeling the affect of wolfsbane-laced restraints for the first time. Not fun, he decided. 

Stiles turned his head, trying to figure out where the fuck he was. He remembered being out for a run, running from Derek-feelings, and then getting hit, but nothing else in between. He didn’t even know how long it’d been. He focused on the wall opposite, and nearly squeaked in surprise when his eyes auto-focused and changed so he could see in the dark. 

“Night vision. I keep forgetting about that,” he mumbled to himself. It was a basement looking place, cement walls, pipes in the ceiling. He flipped over to look at the other side of the room - 

And his blood froze in his veins. He saw Derek shackled to the wall, eyes closed, a pool of blood around him, streaks of red running down his chest and arms. The wounds were closed, already healed, and the blood was drying on Derek’s skin. 

Stiles was scared now, not knowing what the hell was happening, but knew it was even worse now that Derek was also here, trapped and unconscious. 

_Or dead,_ his mind helpfully supplied. But then - Stiles eyes widened. How had he not known Derek was in here the moment he woke up? He would have recognized the scent of him, his heartbeat - 

His heartbeat. 

Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat. 

His own pulse sped up and he shot up, trying to stand, trying to get to Derek, trying to make it not real - 

“Derek! Derek wake up! DEREK!” He shouted, voice hoarse and wrists and ankles burning as he pulled at the ropes. He struggled to his knees, dragging his body along the cold floor towards Derek’s prone form.Tears started to swell in his eyes as he tried desperately to stay in denial about the reality in front of him. 

“Derek, please, Derek, don’t be dead, don’t be dead, Derek I need you to NOT BE DEAD!” He yelled, and then crashed into something. He fell backwards on his back, landed painfully, and immediately climbed back up and moved forwards again, only to be stopped once more by something he couldn’t see. He stopped for a minute, forcing the panic that was rushing through him to calm enough to concentrate and figure out what the hell was going on. He stared at Derek, chest heaving, from the floor, not knowing what he was looking for. 

Derek’s chest lifted slightly, and Stiles honed in on the movement. There it was again. He was breathing. _He was alive._

Stiles sobbed in relief, letting his forehead fall to the floor, tears flowing freely again. He didn’t know why he couldn’t hear his heartbeat and didn’t know what was going on but Derek was alive. Derek was alive and he was alive and no one was dead. 

He lay on the floor for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. When he finally felt like he wasn’t about to hyperventilate, he looked up at Derek again. The lack of heartbeat was seriously freaking him out, but Derek was definitely breathing - shallowly, and slowly, but he WAS breathing. Stiles reached out in front of him again, wanting to get to Derek but suspicious of whatever had stopped him before. His hands hit a hard surface, but he couldn’t see it. It felt fuzzy and warm, like magic. He stretched out, reaching as far as he could without getting up, and the wall of whatever stretched out with him. That must be what was blocking the sound, the reason he couldn’t hear Derek. He hadn’t even realized how important hearing his heartbeat had become until it was gone.

Stiles dropped his hands back onto the floor, looking at Derek again. The urge to get to him was making him dizzy, and Stiles had to take a deep breath, calming himself. He pulled on the ties on his legs, wincing at the burn, and tried to get his claws to come out. It didn’t work, of course. He looked around the room, paying attention to his surroundings for the first time since he realized Derek was here too. 

There was a door to his right, and shelving along the wall, empty. It looked for all the world like a kitchen pantry, with a cement floor and a much creepier vibe. Derek was chained to the wall in metal cuffs, just his wrists, shirtless but breathing. BREATHING. Stiles had to keep reminding himself. 

He looked around the perimeter of the room for clues, searching with his eyes, itching to move but not wanting to worsen the pain from the wolfsbane. He sniffed the air, but all he could smell was wet, cold cement, wood, and a touch of blood. It wasn’t Derek’s blood either - in fact, Stiles couldn’t get anything from Derek, other than what he could see. It was very unsettling to finally get used to werewolf senses and then have them dampened by something you couldn’t see. There was definitely a wall between them, some sort of magic bullshit, he was sure of it. Stiles leaned his forehead against it, and just focused on breathing so he wouldn’t panic. There was nothing he could really do at this point except to wait, and hope to God that Deaton had heard something and the pack was looking for them. 

He could only sit there for so long, though. Eventually he crawled his way to the door and started pounding on it with his feet, over and over again, just laid out on his back. Eventually (or inevitably,) he ended up doing a pattern of three and singing all the verses to We Will Rock You. He still remembered most of it, due to his and Scott’s obsession freshman year, and sang loudly, hoping he’d at least annoy someone enough to come in. Every couple of lines he turned to face Derek, seeing if there was a change, and made sure he was still breathing every time. 

He made it through the song 4 times before his legs were too tired to continue. He dropped his legs and sighed heavily, looking over at Derek again. He was flipping around and on his knees at once, because Derek’s eyes were open and we was moving his mouth like he was yelling, looking a little panicked. 

“Derek, Derek, chill!” Stiles held up his hands, pushing against the magic wall thing. He assumed Derek couldn’t hear him either, so he just stared at him, hands open, hoping he’d calm down. He stopped talking, tilting his head. Stiles tried and failed to not find that adorable, even in this situation. Stiles mouthed Derek’s name, and pointed to his ears, shaking his head. Derek frowned, and nodded in understanding. He made a frustrated face, which made Stiles bark out a surprised laugh, and Derek rolled his eyes at him. Even now, not knowing where they were or what the hell was going on - even without being able to hear each other, Stiles heart beat had slowed and his nerves had calmed considerably. Derek’s mere existence was making the situation better. Even with the fight they’d had - if that’s what you’d call it.

Derek suddenly jerked his head towards the door on his side - and it opened, letting in a bright light. Stiles covered his eyes with his hands. A guy came in, dressed in a ratty suit, and smiled evilly at Stiles before turning and asking Derek a question. Derek stared resolutely at the guy, not speaking. Stiles smiled again, loving the stubbornness in Derek’s jawline that - for once - wasn’t directed at him. 

The guy asked another question, and Derek sneered, saying ‘no.’ The guy took a step towards him and Derek flashed his eyes, snarling. Stiles pressed up against the wall thing, wishing to God he could HEAR something. 

More talking. More of Derek snarling, and giving monosyllabic answers, though Stiles couldn’t read all of them. He was pretty terrible at reading lips, to be honest. 

The guy left, and Derek turned back to look at Stiles, with an even more annoyed face on. Derek’s annoyance faces were pretty spectacular. Stiles grinned at him, and waved, and Derek almost smiled. Almost. 

‘Are you okay?’ Stiles mouthed at him. Derek nodded, looking down at the blood as if he hadn’t realized it was there. 

‘What happened?’ He mouthed, and Derek shrugged, and then winced at the motion. Stiles pressed his hands up against the wall in concern, but Derek opened his hands, palms out, to sign that he was okay. Stiles rolled his eyes at that, because Derek had a terrible history with masochism and lying about his well-being. Derek frowned at Stiles, mouthing back, ‘are you okay?’ Stiles nodded his head, holding up his arms to show the wolfsbane ties. Derek grimaced and shifted his arms, nodding to them to show that they were wolfsbane too. Stiles gave him an exaggerated frown, which pulled up the corners of Derek’s mouth again. 

They sat in silence, looking at one another, for a good solid minute. Stiles realized a little too late that it should have been awkward, shouldn’t have been as comfortable to keep eye-contact for that long. His gaze shifted towards the door, and he didn’t have to hear it to know that Derek had sighed. 

Stiles started messing with his claws again, trying to push them out as far as he could. He could get them about halfway until the shift started to hurt with the wolfsbane, and started tapping at the wall. It didn’t feel exactly HARD, but it wasn’t soft either. It was - magic, okay? Magic had a feeling. It was hard to describe. 

Movement caught Stiles’ eye, and he looked at Derek. His eyes were on Stiles claws against the wall and he had a strangely relaxed smile on his face. Stiles started grinning back, expecting Derek to scowl after he got caught, but he didn't - he smiled wider, and something in Stiles' chest tightened. Derek smiling freely, even while kidnapped and chained to a wall...that was something he never thought he'd see. He tapped some more, unconsciously falling into Morse Code. He and Scott got into it in middle school, and he could remember most of it. They used to send inappropriate messages to each other in front of their parents to try and make the other one laugh. He squinted, trying to remember one of them, and then Derek laughed.

Stiles started, not knowing why the other man was laughing, and then realized he had been spelling out 'dickhead.' He grinned then, not even remotely surprised that Derek could figure out morse. He tapped the word 'hello,' and Derek waved with what little mobility he had. He was slow, because he knew Derek couldn't hear, only see the tapping, and then asked, 'where r we?'

Derek tapped his foot on the ground, and Stiles watched it like a hawk. 'Idk’ was all he wrote, though Stiles had expected more. 

Then Stiles heard a click on the door on his side. His gaze shot to the right and he dropped his hands from the wall. The same guy from before came in, spilling light into the room. Stiles closed his eyes, wincing. He left the door open, which was kind of stupid. Then again, maybe they knew that he wouldn’t leave without Derek. Damn.

“So, kid. What’s it gonna be?” The guy asked, and Stiles just started laughing. The dude was huge, dangerous looking, and had a high, whiney voice. He glanced over at Derek, who was grinning like he knew exactly what Stiles was laughing at. Apparently the guy didn’t appreciate it, though, because Stiles got a boot to the stomach that knocked the air right out of him. He fell to his side, and was kicked again. 

“Jesus,” he tried to say, but it came out as a wheeze as the guy kicked him a third time. If these stupid wolfsbane things weren’t on, Danny DeVito over there would be hamburger by now. 

Stiles coughed, tense, expecting another blow. He breathed in and out a few times, trying to deal with the pain that wasn’t going away as fast as it should. Stupid fucking wolfsbane. 

“You done being a little shit?” The guy asked, and Stiles had to hold in more laughter at his voice. He didn’t respond.

“Good. We need to know where the vault is.”

“The - the VAULT?” Stiles coughed out. “Why the fuck - why do you think I know where a vault is? What vault?” Stiles mind was racing, thinking through the Hale vault, going over what may be of value in there. The money was gone - it was mostly just family heirlooms and papers and shit. He knew it pretty well, as he had helped Derek and Cora catalogue everything after the dead pool shit. He was trying to buy time with his captor, but the dude wasn’t having it.

“Oh, shut your trap. We know who you are. We know you run with the wolves.” The guy spit on the floor next to Stiles head and he tried not to flinch. “We know you’re their little..plaything.”

Stiles glanced at Derek and his eyes widened. Derek was straining so hard at the manacles his wrists were bleeding, his claws partially out and fangs tipping from his gums. His eyes were burning blue with rage and he looked like he was roaring, even though Stiles couldn’t hear it. 

‘Stop,’ he mouthed, and Derek pushed again, breaking more skin on his wrist. ‘STOP,’ he mouthed bigger, and Derek stopped roaring. Or at least, closed his mouth. Stiles was 500% sure he was growling behind his lips. ‘Please,’ Stiles mouthed, and Derek relaxed against the wall, glaring daggers at Stiles but keeping eye contact. His face was pained and pinched and Stiles hated it. 

“Talk, you little runt! Where’s the vault?” He was kicked again, and fervently tried to keep looking at Derek, to make sure he wasn’t hurting himself more. 

“I don’t know - ugh, fuck, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Stiles managed to get out, before getting another boot to his ribs. He could feel his skin healing already, it was an odd stretching feeling, but it still HURT.

“Don’t make me use something more effective than these boots, kid.”

Stiles just blew air out his nose, glaring at the floor. That’s when he heard a sliding noise and a click that was familiar somehow - he couldn’t place it until he was hit with an electric current that had him arching his back in pain. He screamed, and then the pain stopped. Stiles gulped in oxygen, rolling his eyes at the reprieve, but it wasn’t long lasting. The guy hit him again, and Stiles was sure he had never felt something more painful than this moment. He screamed again, but this time it didn’t stop, kept going on for what felt like years, so much that his vision started spotting. 

He cameto on the floor, the guy still standing there with his stupid electic hunter baton, as Stiles had taken to calling them after Chris had showed him one. It was mostly to annoy the ex-hunter.

“Where’s the vault?”

“I don’t know.” A sharp shock.

“Where’s the vault?”

“I don’t know!” Another.

“Okay, kid, let’s try something new.”

The guy clicked out of the room and Stiles just lay on the floor breathing. He didn’t want to look at Derek, fearing what he would see, but when he turned his head, Derek’s eyes were boring into his, his face set in anger and eyebrows furiously drawn together. Stiles coughed, and Derek’s face melted into something akin to worry, still straining at his chains so much his wrists were bleeding. 

‘I’m okay,’ Stiles mouthed at him, and Derek shook his head. Stiles tried to stretch out, groaning. That’s when he heard the clicking steps coming back. He looked in panic at Derek, who growled (or at least that’s what it looked like).

The Danny Devito wanna be entered with a new guy - big, buff and bearded. This looked good.

“Miss me already, buttercup?” Stiles asked.

“Cute, kid. Real cute. Shoot him up.”

“Shoot me - FUCK!” Stiles yelled as the guy roughly lifted him up and pricked his neck with a needle. Stiles could feel whatever the fuck it was almost immediately, making his limbs heavy and his skin burn like he was on fire. That’s what it felt like - burning, burning his body. He looked down at his arms to see if maybe they had actually set him on fire, but his vision was gone, only a murky black swamp in his eyes. He yelled, scratching at his arms, his sides, anything to stop the burning. The guy let him drop to the floor and he hit his head, groaning and writhing, trying to make it STOP.

“I’ve got the antidote right here, kid,” Stiles could barely hear through the haze. “I’ve heard it feels like fire. Were they right?” Stiles just yelled in pain, turning on his stomach. There was laughter to his left.

“Tell us where the vault is. We know you know.”

“FUCK you,” Stiles gritted his teeth, digging his claws into his own palms. 

“You won’t last like this very long, kid, trust me - it gets worse.”

Stiles yelled again, rolling, trying to put out the flames on his body.

“Here, this should help you come around…”

There was a scuffling noise and he was grabbed by the throat. He still couldn’t see anything, couldn’t think.

“Where is the VAULT?” The guy yelled, and Stiles spit in his direction. Then the electric current came again, more intense, worse with the burning, and Stiles could feel his throat vibrating with a scream but couldn’t hear it. He twisted in the guy’s grip but the pain didn’t stop, kept going and going and going. There was a rumble, a roar, and then silence along with the darkness.

\----------------------------------

“..les….Stiles….Stiles! Wake up, oh God please wake up STILES! STILES PLEASE!”

Stiles slowly became aware of a voice, thick with panic, shouting his name. He was cold, and everything hurt, and was being held and a hand was soothingly stroking his face. He could feel drops of something on his cheek, and wiggled his nose as whatever it was ran down his face.

“Oh thank God, oh Stiles, I can’t -” and Stiles was suddenly enveloped in two warm arms and pressed against a heaving chest. He was crying, Stiles realized, crying and holding onto Stiles like there was nothing else in the world. 

“Derek?” He asked, throat dry and voice cracked. Derek shuddered, grabbing on all the more tightly. 

“Why didn’t you just TELL them, Stiles? Why didn’t you just tell them?” Derek asked against Stiles neck, stubble rasping against skin. 

Stiles dug his fingers into Derek’s back, clinging back with as much ferocity as Derek.

“Derek, I’m - I’m okay. I think.”

Derek pulled back, and even though Stiles had heard and felt the tears, it was still a shock to see the water pooling in Derek’s eyes. He lifted a hand, trying to ignore the obvious burn marks on his own wrist, and brushed away the tear, drawing the touch down to cup Derek’s cheek. Derek leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and letting two more drops fall. 

“Baby, I’m okay,” Stiles said, and Derek’s eyes welled up again. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Derek said pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles turned his head at the last moment to catch Derek’s lips with his own. Derek made a wounded sound, but leaned into the kiss, tears still pouring down his face. 

“Shh, Der, it’s - I’m alive, I’m, okay,” Stiles said as he pulled away, reaching up to smooth his fingers over Derek’s forehead. “How - how did you get out?”

“He broke both his hands to pull out of the shackles,” Boyd’s voice came from behind Derek, and his head appeared over Derek’s shoulder. 

“You BROKE your hands?!” Stiles asked incredulously, staring at Derek, who just gave him a watery smile and a shrug. 

“They already healed. You were - I needed to get to you,” he said softly, and that was it. Stiles kissed him again, strong and demanding, and Derek curled his arms around him protectively.

“Guys, we know you’re all in love and shit, but can we get out of this place first?” Malia asked, annoyed. The two of them broke apart, barely, and Derek stood, helping Stiles to his feet. His ribs were still healing and sore, and he coughed once before Derek picked him up, bridal style. 

“Derek, I can walk,” Stiles said, pushing at his chest. 

“Stiles, please - I’m - I’m not carrying you because you can’t walk,” Derek said.

“Oh,” was all Stiles could think to say, and let his hand rest on Derek’s chest as they walked out of the building. It was sunny outside, late afternoon, apparently, which seemed wrong, and Stiles hid his face in Derek’s chest, making him smile.

\------------------------------

When they got him home, Stiles’ dad was understandable anxious and demanding, making Stiles go through a thorough examination, though he had completely healed on the drive over and was just tired. He was then ordered to bed, which he didn’t even argue, and pulled Derek by the hand up the stairs with him. His dad didn’t comment, for which he was beyond grateful. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, though it sounded like a question, as Stiles closed the door behind them.

“Please just sleep with me,” Stiles said pulling off his shirt and climbing gracelessly into his bed. He turned over and lifted the blanket invitingly, to which Derek slipped off his shoes and slid underneath. He still wasn’t touching Stiles, and that was the whole point, so Stiles grabbed his hand and pulled, turning over again to make Derek the big spoon. Derek huffed, grinning into the back of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles let the exhaustion wash over him, and the heat of his mate seep into his skin. 

\-------------------------------

He slept for a long time, only waking late morning the next day. Derek wasn’t wrapped around him, but was tapping away at Stiles’ laptop, feet propped up on the bed by Stiles’ knees. When he shifted, Derek’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and returned the warm smile Stiles gave him. 

“Hey,” Stiles said.

“Hey,” Derek replied. 

“Are you okay?”

Derek nodded. “Are you?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know you knew morse code,” he said, sitting up.

“Yeah, I learned it years ago with my dad.”

“Scott and I learned it to send each other dirty jokes in class.”

“Of course you did,” Derek said, moving his feet and snapping the laptop closed. He moved to stand, but Stiles stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Stay.” 

Derek nodded once, and Stiles went out to the bathroom to pee. He splashed water on his face, ran his fingers through his hair, and brushed his teeth. He stared at himself in the mirror, making his eyes turn from amber to blue and back again. He was nervous, suddenly, and tried to breathe normally so his heart rate wouldn’t jump and Derek wouldn’t worry. 

When he got back to his room, Derek was pacing it’s length. He stopped when Stiles entered, and turned towards him.

“Stiles, I -”

“Wait,” Stiles said, holding up his hand. “You’ve told me a lot. And shared a lot more of your feelings than I have, so just. Wait.”

Derek’s hands dropped to his sides and Stiles took a deep breath. 

“I’m - sorry, for not talking to you and avoiding you and being a little shit. I’m sorry for kissing you when I didn’t know what I wanted, that was fucked up, regardless of what you say -” he paused and raised an eyebrow as Derek looked ready to interrupt, and then continued. “And I’m sorry it took this long to make up my damn mind, because you’ve been so patient and understanding and kind to me when I didn't deserve it and I think I love you.”

Derek was now frozen, eyes open wide, and Stiles let him just process for a minute, Stiles himself holding his breath. Then Derek was on him, kissing him, grabbing at his bare shoulders and running warm hands down his back. They fell onto the mattress together, all limbs and lips and moans, breathless laughter and biting kisses. It was a blur to Stiles, too perfect to be real. 

“I love you, I love -” “I love you, Stiles, I love you-” Their declarations melted together, words lost between their lips. 

Eventually Stiles tried to get Derek’s pants off, and Derek stopped him, reminding him that they were at the Sheriff’s house, while he was home, and they probably shouldn’t. Stiles asked if anyone was at the loft, watched with a grin as Derek’s eyes grew dark, and in lieu of answering, Derek yanked a shirt over Stiles’ head and practically shoved him into the Camaro and they took off down the street. Stiles had his hand on Derek’s thigh, moving his fingers just a little too close to Derek’s crotch for propriety’s sake, while Derek kept both hands on the wheel and eyes on the road. They didn’t speak.

Stiles bolted when the car stopped, laughing as he ran, Derek growling and chasing him. Derek caught up to him just as he reached the door, and pinned Stiles against it, unlocking it with a swift flick and kissing Stiles into the room, gently nudging him in the way he wanted to go. Stiles lost his shirt, and so did Derek, and shoes, socks, then pants were left on the staircase and they were on the bed, skin to skin, Derek on top when he paused and leaned back.

“Stiles, are you su-”

“Yes,” Stiles breathed, pulling Derek down again. 

They didn’t even make it two minutes, both coming with Derek’s hand wrapped around them, Stiles hands wrapped around his. Their kisses became lazy, slow, as they lay wrapped up together, sticky and perfect. 

“When did you know?” Derek asked, tracing Stiles’ face with his fingertips. 

Stiles has his eyes closed, and he sighed. “I don’t know. I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I was scared. Denial.”

Derek hummed. 

“When did you know?” Stiles asked opening his eyes. “You said it wasn’t automatic, so it wasn’t right away, was it?”

“No, not right away. I think I had the same problem. Denial. Boyd was the first person I admitted it to. After - Gerard. When I found out that you had been there, trying to protect us.”

Stiles grimaced at the name, and Derek kissed him softly. 

“You feel too perfect to be real.”

“I’m real,” Derek told him. “See?” Derek held up both hands, and Stiles counted the fingers, touched that Derek remembered. 

“Okay, ten. You’re real,” he said, smiling. 

Derek grinned back, and Stiles just had to kiss it from his face. 

\-----------------------------

They spent all day at the loft, having lots of glorious sex and sappy romantic confessions and moments of silence, comfortably laying together. After the sun had gone down, Stiles tilted his head towards the street, listening. Derek heard it too - the soft purr of Lydia’s car, and Lydia, Allison, Erica and Malia’s heartbeats. 

“What are they doing here?” Stiles whispered, and Derek shrugged at him.

“We should pretend that we’re not here,” Stiles said even softer, and Derek looked at him like he was an idiot. 

“They can hear that we’re here. And they’ll smell it once they get inside.”

“Maybe they’ll go away,” Stiles said, and Derek didn’t look too convinced. 

The girls trudged up the stairs, Erica and Lydia bickering about characters in a TV show, Allison complimenting Malia’s shoes and Malia saying that they were Lydia’s. They stopped at the door, and Stiles held his breath.

“Oh God, they totally have been having sex, it reeks up here,” Erica said. 

“It smells weird. Gay sex has a different smell that hetero sex?” Malia asked.

“That would make sense,” Lydia said, dropping something on the floor. 

Stiles covered Derek’s mouth to smother the laughter there, and then had to use one hand to muffle his own. 

“Do they know we’re here?” Allison asked. 

“I can hear Stiles giggling. I hope it’s at the size of Derek’s dick. I have a secret hope that it’s tiny to balance out his unfair hotness,” Erica said. 

“Sorry to disappoint, Erica!” Stiles yelled at the top of his lungs, and this time Derek covered Stiles’ mouth to make him stop, hissing at him to shut the hell up.

All four girls started laughing, and then they were going down the stairs, the other three pestering Allison to tell them if all werewolves were well endowed, or if it was just Derek. Stiles was still laughing when Derek removed his hand and climbed out of bed.

“Wait, no, where are you going?” 

“To see what they brought over,” Derek said, voice carrying up the stairs as he descended. He padded across the floor and opened the door, picking up what sounded like a paper bag. He must have looked inside, because he started laughing. 

“What? What is it?” Stiles called, and Derek’s footsteps came up the stairs again. 

“Well,” he said when he reappeared, a huge brown paper bag in his hand. “There are a few protein bars, two water bottles, an alarmingly large bottle of lube - and this.”

Derek dumped the bag out on the bed, and Stiles started cackling as about 300 multicolor condoms started streaming out. 

\----------------------

Turns out the kidnappers were just way behind on the rumor mill and thought that the Hale vault still had billions of dollars hidden in it. Which it did, but Stiles had worked very hard on creating those fake rumors and really, bad guys should take that into consideration. Boyd, Scott, and Isaac had been able to run them out of town with some chemical theatrics from Lydia, and the supernatural crisis of the week had been passed. Stiles was only half paying attention to Scott’s retelling of the Freak of the Week story; Derek had just woken up and still had sex hair and Stiles didn’t give two fucks about anything else. 

“I take it you decided?” Stiles’ dad asked him the next day. 

Derek was over for dinner, and he and Stiles were holding hands under the table. Like his dad didn’t know. 

Derek looked confused and Stiles just squeezed his hand. 

“Yeah, Dad. I did.”

“Good choice, Son.”

Derek’s face went pink, realizing what they were talking about. 

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Pass the salt?”

“Oh, nope, uh-uh, you get no extra salt. It’s not good for you.”

The sheriff glared. Stiles glared back. Derek passed the salt.

“Derek! Not cool!”

Derek just shrugged, grinning at the sheriff. 

“Hey, kid, he may be your mate but I’m his future father-in-law. I’m way more terrifying than you.”

There was silence at the table, Stiles staring at his dad, Derek staring at Stiles, the sheriff putting far too much salt on his corn, oblivious as to what he had implied until he looked up.

“Wha - oh, shit. Shoot. Sorry, sorry, I didn’t -”

“Dad, it’s okay. It’s - you’re right. I hope,” Stiles said, turning a little shyly towards Derek. Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand on the table and brought it to his lips, smiling back.

“Yeah, he’s right.”

Stiles beamed, cheeks surely pink. Then Derek continued.

“He IS way scarier than you.”

Stiles opened his mouth in offense, and the sheriff started laughing as Stiles tried to get one of his ice cubes down Derek’s shirt in retaliation.

\---------------------------------

What Stiles didn’t know, and wouldn’t find out about til about 3 months later, was that Derek had a simple, gold ring in a box in his closet that he had bought far before Stiles had been turned. Stiles fastidiously ignored it and definitely didn’t try it on. He also never came up with a good explanation for the amazing blow job he had given Derek the day after finding it.


End file.
